


Gore and Glory

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Series: Across the Barricades [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 1900's AU, Angst and Feels, Bloody Sunday, First Time, Kissing, M/M, ambassador Christophe Giacometti, diplomat Yuuri, military man Viktor, russian-japanese war, tsarevich Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: It is the year 1903. In an attempt of de-escalating matters with Imperial Russia, translator Yuuri Katsuki accompanies his father to St. Petersburg in a diplomatic mission. However, he certainly did not expect to meet a man as stunning and peculiar as tsarevich Yuri Georgieviech's bodyguard, Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov - and even less he expected to fall in love when war is threatening the country.FORMER TITLE: “Love In Times of War And Peace“





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So after some consideration I decide the first chapter of this. Originally I planned on finishing this fic before starting to post, but I'm impatient. :p A lot of research has been put into this fanfic to make it as historically accurate as possible, but since nobody can know everything, I took some small artistic liberties every now and then. One of them is that in this scenario, Tsar Nikolai II's older brother Georgi, who in reality remained childless, had an illegitimate son - Yuri Georgievich -, who is appointed as the tsarevich since Nikolai II's son Alexey was not born yet in 1903.
> 
> Have fun! :3

It was cold and Yuuri was beyond exhausted when he stepped foot in St. Petersburg for the first time in his life. It had taken him three and a half months to arrive – three months to travel through Russia from Vladivostok to St. Petersburg alone. He had never travelled this far before, on such an important mission on top of that. Nervously, Yuuri fingered the cuff of his dark blue three-piece suit; even though Western fashion had become a symbol of modernism in Japan, he could not help but feel a little uncomfortable in it. 

He should be grateful for this task the emperor himself personally assigned him to. In times like these, what was more honorable than serving his country and trying to establish peace? But Yuuri never had been very good with other people and severely lacked confidence in his abilities. Internally, he was immensely grateful for the fact that he was mostly there to translate from Russian to Japanese and back, and that it would be his father, who took the brute of the necessary negotiations. 

When he looked up, the Winter Palace loomed in front of him. They only had to cross the wide plaza in front of it to walk through the huge, impressive gates where thousands of people were milling about. He knew that the front wing of the palace was open for every visitor, but seeing it with his own eyes, the sheer impact of the brillantly decorated facade with its dozen windows and pillars and colors, green and golden and white, caused his heart to beat faster. Never had he been more aware how far away from home he was. Here, the strength of the Russian Empire was truly visible in all its might.

„Loosen up, Yuuri,“ Toshiya told him with one of his eternal smiles and pushed the small spectacles sitting on his nose back onto their rightful place. He seemed surprisingly unfazed by the harsh winds that had greeted them when they stepped out of the carriage. Yuuri murmured a quiet reply and huddled deeper into the warm fur coat that had been given to him by one of the four Russians that had escorted them safely through Siberia. While he watched them, they quickly sprang to attention, their backs ramrod-straight and their faces looking forward. He was wondering about their sudden change of attitude when he heard the sound of hooves on cobblestone.

Immediately, Yuuri met the gaze of the bluest eyes he had ever seen in his entire life.

They belonged to a young man on the back of a black horse which could barely contain its energy. When he slid out of the richly decorated saddle with utter grace, Yuuri found that he was a little taller than himself, with sharp features and a clean-shaven jaw. The uniform he wore made it clear that he was a Polkovnik, a high-ranking member of the Russian military. And he was stunning. Yuuri felt even more awed when he bowed before them in japanese tradition with a smile on his face.

„Doctor Katsuki?“ he asked Toshiya and was still smiling when his gaze slid over Yuuri’s face, before it turned back to his father. „Allow me to welcome you and your son in St. Petersburg. My name is Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov. It will be an honor for me to accompany you to the Winter Palace.“

Viktor Nikiforov. Of course Yuuri had heard of him, and so had his father. It was next to impossible for everyone looking into the matter to not have heard of his deeds in the Russian-Chinese war and the Boxer Rebellion, deeds that had, despite his young age, swiftly moved him into the rank of a Polkovnik. They also granted him the tsar’s favor, which was probably why he functioned as the tsar’s beloved nephew Yuri Georgievich’s – the only child of his older and favorite brother Georgi, who had died four years ago – bodyguard. As far as Yuuri knew, he was a well-beloved and decorated member of the Russian society, and sending him as an escort surely meant that the tsar was regarding them highly enough.

Polkovnik Nikiforov was speaking French and even though Toshiya of course understood French well enough, he disliked speaking it himself, so Yuuri cleared his throat and softly translated for his father, listened to his reply and cleared his throat again before he answered, „Thank you very much for the warm welcome. We are happy to-“ He fumbled a little with his words, his French a little fickle sometimes, before he settled on saying, “We are happy to follow your lead.“

For some reason, Polkovnik Nikiforov’s smile broadened at that and he nodded before he handed over his horse’s reins to one of the uniform-clad Russians standing to attention and gestured towards the Winter Palace with one black-gloved hand. „Please, follow me. You’re very fortunate to arrive on such a beautiful day.“

And indeed it was a beautiful day with the sun reflecting off the gold that lavishly decorated the Winter Palace. It even made the cold and biting wind a little more tolerable, to see such a great building in a natural scenario like this, Yuuri silently thought. Polkovnik Nikiforov was a steady presence on his side, his hands clasped together behind his straight back as they walked. He cut a formidable figure in the uniform, Yuuri had to admit; it was hard to look away from the strong line of his shoulders and narrow waist. As if sensing his gaze, Viktor Ivanovich looked at him and smiled; it caused Yuuri to blush and look down to the soft, thin layer of snow hiding the plaza’s cobblestones.

Passing the palace’s giant portal felt like a dream; he wondered how his father managed to be so calm about it, but then again he had been to other countries than Japan before, unlike Yuuri. This was different from his country, and different from the vast land of frozen tundra that was Siberia too. This was a bustling city at the sea, full to the brim with people who looked differently, talked differently, dressed differently and looked at him with the curious interest of someone looking at a talking ape. Yuuri felt himself frowning and smoothed down the front of his suit. 

„I am sure you must be exhausted,“ Viktor Ivanovich remarked, „You must have travelled for weeks, surely you’d like to rest and enjoy a proper bath, yes? The tsar will welcome you tomorrow evening – he is still on his way here. Until then, it will be my utmost pleasure to keep you company. General Feltsman and Baron Rosen will be joining us for dinner tonight.“

What a clever insult it was, Yuuri could not help but think, to still keep them waiting without really keeping them waiting, too little to be direct affront, too much to be a coincidence. What Polkovnik Nikiforov thought about that, how much he was involved in this, was impossible to determine; he at least sounded sincerely apologizing enough that Toshiya smiled and nodded, so Yuuri replied, „Thank you very much, we appreciate the tsar’s thoughtfulness for his tired guests.“

The smile Viktor Ivanovich threw at him was dazzling enough that Yuuri blinked. „You will reside in some of the best guest rooms the Winter Palace has to offer, I am sure you won’t be disappointed – and if that truly should be the case, I will see to myself that you will get rooms that are more fitting for your needs.“

Yuuri felt his lips twitch at that in fond bemusement. It was clear that Polkovnik Nikiforov was not a politician, nor did he try to be. Obviously he seemed to give his best to be accomodating towards them and his French was very good indeed with little to no stumbling, but in everything he said he seemed strangely straightforward. It was refreshing and Yuuri could not help but feel slightly charmed by it, yet the only thing he answered was, „I’m sure that this won’t be necessary, but thank you very much all the same.“

They were led across a beautiful inner courtyard with a square of green in the middle, lined with leafless trees that had to look quite mighty in the summer. Here, the stream of visitors had thinned into a few servants and one or two important-looking people wandering from one building to the other. Yuuri tried to see if he could recognize their faces, but soon had to realize that they were entirely unknown to him. Viktor Ivanovich brought them to the left back corner of the square Winter Palace and waltzed through the doors that were hastily opened for them by servants. There was a spring in his step Yuuri quite liked; the Russian had to be about twenty-three years old and in that moment it showed even more than before. It caused him to feel a little more secure in his own young age. 

The rooms they finally found themselves in were truly a work of art. Undoubtedly designed to accomodate high-ranking guests, Yuuri was overjoyed to find the luxurious bathroom furnished with a quite generous bathtub. There was enough space that he even had his own bedroom, which was as big as the main room where his father would stay. He had known that the bed would be different; he had never slept in a European bed before. It certainly would be an experience.

“If you need anything else, please just ring that bell over there and one of the servants will attend to your needs,” Polkovnik Nikiforov remarked after a while and smiled. “I will leave you now to give you a little rest. We will see each other at dinner, I hope? That is, unless you have already tired of me.”

“Not at all!” Yuuri protested perhaps a little too quickly, feeling his ears start to burn almost immediately. Viktor Ivanovich regarded him with a funny, almost bemused expression and inclined his head a little. 

“I am happy to hear that,” he finally said and bowed first to Toshiya, then to Yuuri. “And I am looking forward to it.”

“He is young,” Toshiya remarked with a smile after Polkovnik Nikiforov had left, again with that charming spring in his step. “Makes it hard to believe that he allegedly fought like the devil in the Boxer Rebellion and made himself a name with his ingenious war tactics, doesn't it?”

“I thought the same,” Yuuri admitted and looked over to the bathroom. “Would you like to go first, father?”

“That would be great,” Toshiya replied and patted his shoulder. “Although it will be nothing like the hot springs back home, but nothing ever is. And Russia is very different from home, indeed, although at least the welcome was better than I expected.”

“Well, they are keeping us waiting, so…”

“I almost expected that,” his father admitted and moved on to pat his cheek. Yuuri’s family had always been rather affectionate despite Japan’s customs. “But they sent one of the tsar’s favorite confidants to keep us company, so it could be worse. We live in hard times, my boy, this is hardly the worst that could have happened. I think we should try to send your mother a letter so that she knows we arrived safely, don't you think?”

“I will see to it while you're having your bath,” Yuuri decided and sat down in front of the finely crafted desk made of polished wood in one of the living room’s corners after his father had hummed in agreement, vanishing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Before Yuuri could even begin putting the first word of the letter on paper, there was a knock on the door. Upon his calling for entrance, a maid scurried into the room and bowed before him.

“Good afternoon,” she murmured nervously in Russian; her simple, yet somehow rather lovely, freckled face visibly brightened when Yuuri answered in carefully pronounced words of her native language and she bowed again. “May I help you sort your belongings into the trunks and closets for the time of your stay, Milord?”

“Ah – yes, very well, you may,” Yuuri hastily replied and tried his best to suppress the urge to bow as well. Bowing to people of lower social status was not customary in Japan, and it certainly was not in Russia as well. Turning back to the piece of thick, obviously expensive cream-colored paper in front of him, he tried to ignore the maid as she moved around and retrieved Toshiya’s and Yuuri’s belongings from their portmanteaus to carefully hang them up in the impressively high closets that lined one wall in each of the bedrooms. For a while, he carefully considered what to write before he began.

“Dearest mother,“ he wrote in careful Japanese, “The weather in St. Petersburg is harsh, since the winds coming from the sea are sharp and cold. Father and I dress as warmly as possible to protect ourself against them and the snow. Although it is cold, on the day of our arrival the sun was shining, albeit with not much strength. As you can see, father and I finally arrived safely at our destination. I am writing this letter to you from our quarters in the Winter Palace. Even though the palace itself certainly is worth admiring, I am not sure if Russia would be to your liking. St. Petersburg is far more welcoming than Siberia, of course, but every bigger town would be more welcoming than the small villages we stopped in every now and then during our journey. Even though Tsar Nikolai II. is keeping us waiting, we were welcomed by a high-ranking member of the Russian military, Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov. As far as I know, he is also one of the tsar’s most intimate confidants and father believes that sending him to aid and entertain us is a sign of well-meaning from the tsar. He has promised to dine with us and I am looking forward to it. I believe that our stay here will bring good results for our country and I am going to work as hard as possible to aid father in our mission so that you and our emperor can be proud of us. I hope that you and Mari are well and that we will see each other again as soon as possible. Please take care of yourself while we are away. Your loving son, Yuuri.”

By the time his father came out of the bathroom to dress in a new suit, Yuuri had already finished the letter and handed it over to his father for him to read through. After getting Toshiya’s full approval, he carefully sealed into an envelope made of the same cream-colored expensive paper as the one he had used for the letter itself. Writing the address on it in careful letters, he handed it over to the maid who was just about to leave, and asked her to bring it to the next post office. 

“Get ready, son,” Toshiya told him with a smile, “We want to look our best at dinner, don't we?”

“Of course, father,” Yuuri answered with a slight bow and hurried into the bathroom, happy at the prospect of soaking in hot water for a while. He was tired to the bones, bones in which Russia’s cold seemed to linger longer than it had the right to. This was not something he was used to; hopefully he would manage to avoid getting sick. Yuuri had always been someone who worried too much, but in this situation he worried even more than usual, probably because it was not only his own life that was on stake if he failed here – failing this, failing his father and causing trouble, could mean a national disaster. The immense pressure caused his fingers to tremble as he lowered himself into the tub after filling it anew with hot water running from taps in forms of golden swans and undressing himself. Not for the first time he wondered whether his father and the emperor had made a mistake by assigning him to this particular task; maybe he was just not cut for this job. 

With a sigh, he sunk into the water until his nose barely was above the surface and closed his eyes. No point in thinking about it too hard now; that evening with Polkovnik Nikiforov would probably be a good opportunity to warm up his social skills for the tsar and his family, and with how charming the young man had been, it probably would not go too badly for him. 

After all, what was the worst that could happen?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the confusion - it seems that I unintentionally posted this work twice. I deleted one of the versions and unfortunately lost one lovely comment, for which I am eternally sorry. ;_; Stuff should be fixed now, though!

Viktor was in an exhilarated mood.

He had always been good with people and Doctor Katsuki and his son were the first people from Japan he had ever met. Smiling as he strolled through the Winter Palace’s inner courtyard, not staying for longer than necessary underneath the naked, dark branches of the trees, he thought again of Yuuri Katsuki’s warm brown eyes behind those round, small glasses made of nickel. What a shy young man he was, with such courteous manners! He truly looked forward to having dinner with them. 

One of the servants found him when he was just about to enter one of the salons fit for guests not very far away from the Katsuki’s rooms, a flushed young thing with red cheeks and a lower lip that was a little too big to be flattering for her face. Still, when she curtsied before him he gifted her with a gentle smile that encouraged her to stammer, “News from His Imperial Majesty, Milord. They will reach the Winter Palace tomorrow morning. General Feltsman will join you at tonight’s dinner along with Baron Rosen as planned.”

“Thank you,” Viktor replied and inclined his head a little. “Bring me some tea, will you? That would be very kind of you.”

“Right away, Milord,” the girl replied, curtsied again and left. With a sigh, Viktor settled on one of the sofas and gently massaged his aching shoulder. Ever since he had caught three bullets to it, it had not been the same; if the weather turned colder, the scars centered like sunrays around a closed and scarred former bullet wound through his shoulder ached and knotted tightly into something quite unpleasant. Strangely enough, the right leg that had been broken twice during the Chinese-Russian war – the first one he had ever participated in, back when he had been just shy of eighteen years old – did not bother him as much and only on very rare occasions he needed a cane to aid him. It had been a miracle back then to see his leg heal that flawlessly after having dragged it through the mud of the trenches for hours, the horror and coldness of the war, the desperate wish to live the only thing to keep him going. It was not something he liked to dwell upon and he already deeply regretted having allowed his thoughts to wander off that far. With a sigh, he covered his eyes with one gloved hand and closed them, breathing in and out evenly until tea arrived. The girl that brought it was the same as before and she was quick to vanish again, for which he was grateful. 

They had left the _Grazhdanin_ and the _Petersburgskaya Gazeta_ on the table for him too, which secretly pleased him greatly. They were not the newspapers he would get valuable information from – nothing in them would speak of the laborer’s hard working conditions, of their malnourishment and dissatisfaction that threatened to tear the country apart. Nothing in it would speak of the farmer’s poor settlements, of their hard lives even years after the abolishment of serfdom. How a man like Prince Meshchersky, who was only able to still enjoy his freedom because of his tight bondings to the tsar despite his rather carelessly shown fondness for other men, could write about what was going on in Russia in such a determined, old-fashioned way was beyond him. Then again, in all honesty Viktor was not exactly in a place to judge. Saying nothing and staying as neutral as possible was, at least for some people, probably even worse, and people had probably started to talk about him behind his back as well already. 

After the second page of the _Grazhdanin_ , he paused and poured some of the samowar’s steaming contents into the delicately crafted cup in front of him. It was made of fine china and painted with fragile blue roses. After a small sip from the black tea that was still a little too hot to be enjoyed peacefully, he leaned back again with a sigh and began reading again. Yet he found himself not quite involved by the lines of words strung together into fine sentences. Instead, he found his thoughts wandering, almost wistfully, to the dinner that awaited him. Perhaps the tsar really ought to have sent a more diplomatically trained man than him; Viktor never had been particularly known for his tact, making up for social mishaps as much as possible with charm and wit. However, charm and wit, too, could unintentionally offend someone if armed at people with different cultural background and different beliefs on what was considered to be a joke. Yakov Semyonovich would have warned him times and times again of the many conversational dangers that waited for him, but Viktor preferred not to think about them much, if at all. Sometimes overthinking just overcomplicated things.

Suddenly, randomly, yet not for the first time he found himself thinking about taking a wife. Such a task would not be very hard to accomplish; he was a well-decorated war hero with an almost indecently high rank in the military given his young age, and considered himself quite attractive as well, not to mention intelligent and worthy of some attention. Finding a young, hopefully educated woman of good breeding – perhaps even of noble birth – would have been manageable. But he was bored so easily and liked his freedom of a bachelor that granted him to be with whomever whenever he pleased without having to feel guilty about it. To strap him down for a longer period, a woman – or any kind of person, really – had to be more than interesting. She had to be intriguing, clever, beautiful and surprising, which Viktor found only justified since he was able to bestow the same gift to other people by his mere presence. Nothing was worse than boredom; except, perhaps, the war. 

With a sigh, he took another sip of his tea which had the right temperature to be consumed this time. Thinking about his upcoming twenty-fourth birthday in a few weeks held not much appeal either; it was childish to yearn for lost time when one was still so young and Viktor knew that, but somehow he could not help but feel as if a major part of his life was already over, some hopes forever lost. And who was to know if he would even get a chance of more birthdays to come, more birthdays to look forward to with a frown? Considering this, the event’s strange dreadfulness held all promises of life to him; if one could unwillingly await things, one was alive enough to do so, and in times like these that was more than many could hope for, so in the end dreading his birthday was a quite positive occurrence to happen. Satisfied with this train of thought that ultimately confirmed his belief that nothing in life was utterly negative, he emptied his cup in one go and closed his eyes for a moment, the _Grazhdanin_ folded loosely on top of his chest, almost forgotten. 

For only the fraction of a moment, he allowed himself to yearn for a newspaper that would tell him the information he was really interested in, but reading a newspaper like _Iskra_ and walking away unharmed was quite difficult; Nikolai Alexandrovich did not approve of many things these days and even though Viktor felt himself quite close to the tsar, he did not wish to test his luck that much. At least the _Petersburgskaya Gazeta_ proved to be quite entertaining with its fascination for scandals in the high society – and there were enough, not few of them involving people he had personally met or even stood in regular contact with, which was not very surprising. In a way, Viktor could understand the population’s indignation about how things were handled in Russia, yet still he kept his mouth shut and flashed his smile in every direction; it was due to the tsar that he found himself where he was right now and it was the tsar’s nephew, the tsarevich for as long as Nikolai Alexandrovich had no son of his own, that he had sworn to protect with his life, and no matter how often he found himself thinking, wistfully, how different things could be if the tsar would show a little more openness, a little more cooperation – he would never speak against the Romanovs.

It was a while later that he was shaken from the slumber he had apparently fallen victim to at one point; it was the servant that woke him by shyly calling his name until he blinked at her, unfocused and confused in the first moments of cruel alertness. Soon enough, he came back to himself and thanked her with a smile, looking at the silver pocket watch he had gotten as a reward for his services in the army, only to see that he had somehow succeeded in wasting the afternoon with napping and therefore now was right on time for his dinner with the Katsukis. 

After a quick look in the mirror and a few minor fixes of his uniform, he was ready to go and walked out of the salon, right into the direction of where he was about to meet them. In all honesty, he was glad that gospodin Witte would not join them this evening; he could not say that he had a strong liking for the man, no matter how brillant he was in his position as a minister. Meeting him tomorrow evening in the course of the dinner the tsar held would be more than enough. 

He arrived at the salon just when Yakov Semyonovich Feltsman was brought there by a smiling servant. Yakov Semyonovich looked every bit as impressive as he had when Viktor had joined the Imperial Army six years ago. He was a broad-shouldered tall man with the eyes of a soldier and a nose that had visibly been broken several times. What remained of his hair was more grey with silver streaks than black already since he was in his seventies, and it was clear to see that he had led an eventful life. And yet he still showed intimidating strength. Viktor knew that his parents had been German immigrants, his father a well-known tailor in St. Petersburg unwilling to leave his oldest son, the only one still born in Germany, to the Imperial Army of a country that was not exactly friendly and welcoming towards jews. His mother had died in childbed during the birth of her fourth child; Yakov Semyonovich insisted that he could barely remember her anymore, yet he always spoke of her in high regards on the rare occasions where she was mentioned. His only brother Samuel, four years younger than him with a doe-eyed face and a warm personality, had perished in the Chinese-Russian war a few years ago. One sister had died very young with eight years; the fever had taken her, and Yakov Semyonovich had only mentioned her once and very briefly. One sister, Natalia Semyonovna, had married a Frenchman at a very young age and went with him to Paris. Apparently she had children Yakov Semyonovich had never seen. It had always been baffling to Viktor how someone could willingly leave St. Petersburg, but then again he had never really been in love. Yakov Semyonovich, however, seemed to have been; he was married to the beautiful and well-known former prima ballerina of the Imperial Ballet, Lilia Fyodorovna Baranovskaya. However, in the last few years their marriage had grown a little colder the more Yakov Semyonovich devoted himself to the Imperial Army and his most promising subordinates. For Viktor, who had basically grown up in their house, it was a sad development, but nothing that surprised him overly much. A spirited, fierce woman like Lilia Fyodorovna demanded devotion and attention, and Yakov Semyonovich had neglected his wife in that area. Maybe Viktor was not quite innocent in that matter; he had learned a lot from Yakov Semyonovich, had stolen him time and effort and used it for his own ambitions.

„Vitya,“ Yakov Semyonovich growled and nodded at him, his constant frown not changing when Viktor kissed him on the cheek in a burst of affection. “I see you are well. Met our guests already?”

“Indeed, they are quite interesting,” Viktor answered with a smile. 

Yakov Semyonovich’s frown deepened a little more. “I don’t like it, dining with them without His Imperial Majesty. It’s not proper, they might view it as an insult and that’s not what he can afford right now. I really wonder what is going on with His Imperial Majesty, not that is is in my right or my desire to affront him.”

“It wasn’t intentional, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Viktor said with a smile and steadily ignored Yakov Semyonovich’s even more deepening frown. He turned his head to see that Baron Rosen had arrived and strode forward to heartily shake his hand.

Roman Romanovich Rosen stremmed from a long line of russified Baltic German nobility, even though his mother was of Georgian descent. There were rumors that he actually was of Swedish descent, but Viktor was not sure whether that was true or not and in all honesty did not care enough to ask. He was married to Baroness Elizabeth Alexievna Rosen, who had gifted him with a daughter, their only child and pride and joy. Being in his fifties, he was a man of impeccable stance and posture with thin white hair and a short-cropped beard that did not have a lot of black spots anymore. The lines around his dark eyes were countless like dried riverbeds, but he was amicable enough and one of Russia’s most important diplomats, especially when it came to Japan. The number of treaties he had helped to craft was long and impressive; Viktor had tried to memorize them all, but he was not exactly a man of politics – even though it was hard to avoid politics these days – and so could not remember all of them, but there were enough that Viktor had quite some respect for the man. It was easy to understand why Baron Rosen was so successful in what he was doing; he had a tender nature with a fine sense for the needs and feelings of other people, never behaved irrationally or angry and knew when to be witty and charming and when to act firmly. Most importantly, next to English, German, Italian and French he spoke and understood Japanese quite well, which would certainly prove to be pleasing to their guests. 

After having paid his greetings to them, Baron Rosen nodded at the servant that had accompanied him to the room, then settled his gaze on Viktor. “Ah, Viktor Ivanovich!“ he remarked with a smile, “How very unusual to see you away from your protégé! Surely you must be worried about him?”

“His Imperial Majesty had me clear some important business with my subordinates in town, Milord,” Viktor replied with a smile, “And I am sure that Yuri Georgievich is fine – after all, he is traveling with his family and I have personally assured that their security is on the highest possible level. But you are not wrong – it is quite unusual for me as well and it would be a lie to say that I am not looking forward to watching over him again.”

“You have turned into a fine young man, Viktor Ivanovich,” Baron Rosen said after a slight pause, “One of Russia’s finest, certainly. You must be terribly proud of your protégé, Yakov Semyonovich. I remember when he first was introduced to the troops – so young and tender! Who would have thought that such nerves of steel and resolve are underneath that pretty exterior? But perhaps that is why I am a diplomat and leave the finer parts of crafting good soldiers to you, Yakov Semyonovich.”

Viktor swore that he could see the twitch of a smile on Yakov Semyonovich’s face, but it was gone quite quickly when a servant neared, their Japanese guests in tow. Doctor Katsuki looked exactly as serene and unfazed as when Viktor had first greeted him and his son; smiling, he bowed before them and shook all of their hands. Viktor smiled and nodded along, letting Doctor Katsuki enter the room first behind Yakov Semyonovich and Baron Rosen, before his eyes met those of Yuuri Katsuki. He looked nervous and young, his cheeks slightly flushed and his posture a little uncomfortable, even though he smiled shyly. Viktor could not help but smile back, wondering at the sudden fluttering in his chest. What was it that he was so enamoured with this bright, open face? There was something about the young man that had caught his interest and it was impossible for him to explain what it was.

“Please, after you,” he said with a gentle smile and nodded towards the salon.

Yuuri Katsuki flushed even more and lowered his eyes a little. “Thank you,” he murmured and quietly slipped through the door. Viktor watched his back and allowed his eyes to wander lower for only the fraction of a second, nothing more, before he followed him inside. For the first time in his life, he wished that he was better in political matters. There was nothing he wanted less than offend such a magnificent creature like Yuuri Katsuki, after all. But now there was nothing that could be done: The game was on, and Viktor intended to play it as magnificently as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? This is unbeta‘d, but I decided to fuck it. It‘s been so long that people probably already forgot about this or came up with something better anyways, so have at it.

It was clear to see that the salon they entered was meant for smaller gatherings, which was precisely what this dinner was. Still, the servants had taken great care in preparing the round table in the middle of the room accordingly for their guests. Fine, white linen covered the table and even though the room was illuminated by electric light, there was a beautifully ornamented candle holder made of polished silver in the middle of the table. The porcelain was quite thin, the rims of the plates painted with small, fragile blue flowers that were so delicate, so expertedly drawn that they almost seemed real. The cutlery was silver too, gently glowing in the yellow light of the thick, blue candles in the candle holder, and Yuuri could not help but admire the subtle gold rim of the glasses added to the table. He wondered what the table would look like when the tsar would join them tomorrow.

“Please, allow me,“ he heard Viktor Ivanovich say and blinked as a chair was drawn out for him. Was this usual in Russia? He did not dare to look at his father for help, so instead he nodded gratefully at Polkovnik Nikiforov and sat down, fondly noticing the chair’s soft red cushioning that elegantly complimented the dark wood that chair had been made of. He did not, however, miss the small, not quite amused look General Feltsman shot towards Viktor Nikiforov, who only smiled and took a seat next to Yuuri. He also did not miss that for all other persons present in the room servants were the ones drawing out their chairs for them. With slighly burning cheeks he looked down at the plates in front of him and wondered what all of this was about.

“Ah, Viktor Ivanovich, always so polite towards our guests,“ Baron Rosen remarked with a smile after he had sat down between Toshiya and General Feltsman, the latter one smiling grimly. “Doctor Katsuki-sama, is it alright to talk in French?“

“By all means,“ Toshiya replied in heavily-accentuated French with a friendly smile and a small nod. “My son will translate what I do not understand.“

Baron Rosen smiled amicably and Yuuri tried not to squirm when all eyes suddenly were on him. This was decidedly not what he wanted, even though he had prepared to get attention from even more people in one room than this. Trying to show his best side, he smiled weakly at the Russian diplomat. 

“Ah yes!“ Baron Rosen exclaimed and snapped his fingers in excitement. “I have heard of your excellent translation of the Bible. Not an easy task for a young man like you, and certainly something to be proud of! How old are you exactly, if I may ask?“

“Eighteen, Rosen-sama,“ Yuuri replied and was relieved to hear that his voice was considerably steady. 

“That’s younger than I thought,“ Viktor Ivanovich commented from his right side and Yuuri could not only hear the surprise in his voice, but also see it on his face. He had no right to look like that, Yuuri promptly decided; not when Polkovnik Nikiforov himself still was so young.

“I’ll be turning nineteen in a few months,“ he replied and gently thanked the servant that had in the meantime begun to pour wine of a rich, dark-red color into their glasses. His father had told him of the Russian table waiters that were supposed to be an adornment to the tsar’s household – all strong, tall men dressed in ceremonial livery, white tie, gloves, breeches, tall socks and shoes with non-slip soles. They had to hurry through the palace’s corridors with high velocity and heavy trays and thus were selected for their good looks and skills. The servant that had filled his glass smiled and remained discreetly in the background just like the other servants individually assigned to each guest, leaving Yuuri to look at the glass in front of him. 

Yuuri had always tried to stay away from alcohol as much as possible, but doing so in this situation would have been impolite – and besides, he had the feeling that a sip or two could not hurt. Certainly it would help to soothe his nerves that had begun to frazzle again. That there was no need for him to be that aggravated was something he logically knew quite well; however, that was not enough for him to relax. It was due to these circumstances that he reached for his glass and took a rather big sip. Polkovnik Nikiforov eyed him appraisingly from aside, which did not help at all.

“So, not that young at all. Is there a bride waiting for you in Japan, gospodin Katsuki?“ he asked and smiled when Yuuri flushed immediately while General Feltsman quietly clucked his tongue in disapproval and Baron Rosen chuckled a little. Yuuri supposed that this question in its invasive directness was quite impolite not only in Japan, but in Russia too, but he found that he did not exactly mind. Viktor Ivanovich had a certain charme to his character that made it almost impossible to be cross with him.

“No, my studies consume all of my time at the moment,“ he replied with a small smile and took another sip. Next to Polkovnik Nikiforov, General Feltsman did the same, downing half of his glass in what was definitely not proper. “I hope to find a suitable woman in a few years after having completed my studies and sufficiently aided my father and my country.“

“Spoken like a true diplomat,“ Baron Rosen interjected with a small laughter, “And please let me tell you to take your time. Finding a woman you can share the rest of your life with takes some time and considerable effort. I married my wife only a few years ago and I am much older than you. Viktor Ivanovich here takes his time as well, and I can’t say that I don’t understand why.“

Yuuri did not understand why it was in that exact moment that his eyes met Polkovnik Nikiforov’s, who smiled at him with an almost soft gaze. Eyes and cheeks burning, Yuuri stared down at the table and took another sip from his glass. Just like that, the servant appeared behind him to discreetly pour some more. Yuuri did not protest and was surprised to see that the first course already appeared on the table, a rich cream soup of a light color together with several baskets of dark and white bread. Hesitating, he looked to his father who who in return seemed to wait patiently for a certain kind of signal.

“I do have to admit that we are confronted with a quite peculiar situation here, since His Imperial Majesty is not with us here tonight,“ Baron Rosen said after a moment with a small smile, “But I am honored to welcome you in our beautiful country, and I will gladly serve as head of this dinner, if General Feltsman is fine with that.“

“Of course,“ General Feltsman replied with such a grim smile after a slight pause that Yuuri could not help but feel slightly intimidated by it, but Toshiya only laughed lightly and seemed entirely unaffected, so Yuuri forced himself to relax with the help of a little more wine. After Baron Rosen had started to eat, everyone else did so too, Polkovnik Nikiforov and General Feltsman sharing an unreadable look that Yuuri was not sure what to make of, but had the feeling that it was important. The soup, he discovered, had a rich taste of white mushrooms, truffle and several other ingredients Yuuri could not properly label, but he decided that he quite liked it. It had nothing of his mother’s miso soup, however, and for a very sudden and strange moment he was overcome with a wave of sadness, trying to swallow the thought of his mother’s serene smile with another mouthful of wine. The alcohol was not something he was used to, either, since it had a much heavier and deeper taste, and he probably really should slow down a little, but then again the Russians were busily drinking as well, so at least he did not draw attention to himself.

“How do you like the Russian kitchen?“ Polkovnik Nikiforov asked between two mouthfuls of soup, smiling at him from aside. “I imagine that it is much different from what you are used to.“

It had to be a coincidence that the man asked him right in that one moment where he thought of his mother, but Yuuri was silently pleased all the same and nodded a little. Around them, the conversation carried on, Baron Rosen having chosen to change from Japanese to Russian in fluent speech that Yuuri could not help but admire. “Yes, I have to admit that. To be honest, I was just thinking of my mother’s soup.“

“Your mother must be a lovely woman to raise a gentleman like you,“ Viktor Ivanovich remarked with a small smile. Yuuri wondered what it was that constantly threw him off-balance whenever the man opened his mouth, enough to take another sip from the wine. He was almost glad that there was a brief pause in their conversation as the plates were carried off and took his time with dabbing his mouth. 

“She is,“ he then agreed, blinking when his glass was refilled once more. When had he emptied it? 

“Is this your first time in a foreign country?“ Viktor Ivanovich asked and sent him such a dazzling smile that Yuuri could not help but be charmed by it. A diplomat Polkovnik Nikiforov would never become, but Yuuri found that he was completely willing to tell him everything he wanted to know. Perhaps it was the wine that slowly got to his head and spoke out of him, he thought, but there was still something frightening enough about the entire situation that his heart threatened to leap into his throat every time he made a wrong movement. This was not dinner with the tsar, but that did not necessarily make it any better.

The second dish was served, steaming white fish with potatoes and a thick, creamy sauce. With the food the wine had changed too, Yuuri noticed; instead of the heady red wine he now had a white wine that his servant discreetly told him was a Rudesheimer, supplied by the wine merchant Diktay on the rhine, who served the imperial court since 1884. Yuuri had to admit that he had no considerable knowledge in matters of wine, but it sounded impressive enough that he nodded at the explanation.

“It is,“ he then replied to Polkovnik Nikiforov’s question with a small smile and took a bite from the fish in front of him, only to find it supple and rich of taste. There was no way that he would not gain weight if every luncheon and dinner was the same as this – even though he had an inkling that dinner with the tsar would be even more pompous than this. “I have to admit that it is quite an exciting experience, even though there is a lot to adjust to. It’s – it’s a little overwhelming sometimes.“ 

“Well, I remember the first time I went to Japan,“ Baron Rosen amicably interjected and laughed a little, startling Yuuri with his sudden interference. Had he been so caught up in thinking and eating and not looking at Viktor Ivanovich’s intensely blue eyes? “It took me quite a while to adjust to it, even though everyone was so accomodating. The first time away from home is never easy for anybody, but you will get used to it. Just give it a little time! It never hurts to have something to do, either, or so I have found.“ 

“Not to mention that the Asian culture is quite different from ours,“ General Feltsman pointed out, but it did not seem to be meant as an insult, so Yuuri merely smiled. Next to him, Toshiya’s smile turned a little sharp when General Feltsman added, “It was a whole new world over there in Manchuria.“

For the slightest fraction of a second there was a quite uncomfortable pause, the outcome of the Boxer Rebellion and its role in the current situation almost visibly hanging in the air. General Feltsman seemed to regret his words as soon as they had left his mouth, but made no move to correct them. Polkovnik Nikiforov touched his lower lip and chin in a thoughtful gesture that was accompanied by a shallow smile, and he said nothing. It was Baron Rosen who laughed a little and waved his hand in an almost careless gesture before he said, “Well, I at least was prepared of what I had to expect. Then again, nobody ever is prepared well enough when entering a foreign country – though I think that Russia makes it especially hard to prepare for it. We are so large that customs change every few versts!“ 

“Ah, yes,“ Toshiya agreed with a smile and launched into a story of their journey through Siberia that included the impressive work done to build the Trans-Siberian Railway; every now and then, Yuuri gently aided him with a few French expressions. When their plates were carried away, Viktor Ivanovich’s gaze met Yuuri’s again. By now, Yuuri had started to feel a little more relaxed and at ease; a fleeting thought told him that it probably was the alcohol he was not used to, but he paid it no heed, instead focusing on Polkovnik Nikiforov’s thoughtful expression that immediately lightened into something bright and friendly when he caught Yuuri looking back at him. 

“I have to admit that the Trans-Siberian Railway is one of the most important and impressive feats of our country,“ he said, still looking intently at Yuuri, who felt sheepish enough to take a sip from the glass that had been refilled again – red wine again, although a different one from before, even though Yuuri would not have been able to describe the differences if his life had depended on it. “I know that for most people the economic reason is the one with the most weight here, but for me the Trans-Siberian Railway has such an incredibly strong symbolic character, don’t you think? It is this massive symbol of overcoming barriers and limits, of broadening communication and possibilities and of connecting people with each other. Yes, if you ask me it is very likely the most important project of our time, and will be for a long while. We live in great times, despite all the turmoil – exciting times, I think, where everything is possible and humanity takes a leap. A few decades ago, nobody would have thought of having electric light everywhere, light that doesn’t come from candles – and now look at what we have accomplished, what this room is mainly lighted with! Man is curious and insatiable in that very curiosity; when we have found a new toy, we want to tinker with it until we have made the most of it. That is why the Trans-Siberian Railway will succeed and outlive us all.“

“Well said, Viktor Ivanovich!“ Baron Rosen exclaimed and nodded at him with a smile, while General Feltsman gruffly murmured something in Russian that Yuuri could not quite catch. “And it is our duty to ensure that this development is not disturbed by anything – that we can reach out to each other and shake one’s hands, not rip them off.“

It was hard to focus on anything while the conversation carried on and the third dish, lean red meat on rice and vegetables, was served. Something about Polkovnik Nikiforov’s so earnestly delivered words had touched his heart; was this not what they were all trying to do, forming connections instead of enemies? So much had changed in the last few years, in Japan possibly more than everywhere else, and Yuuri knew the desire to welcome new ways of life, but he also knew the struggle to preserve old traditions. His country had been forced to open its doors and therefore had adapted accordingly; whether that was the right thing to do or not was debatable and annoying enough for quite a few people. And yet, he could not stop mulling Viktor Ivanovich’s words over and over. _Humanity takes a leap_ , he had said, and Yuuri had seen it as well, clear as day, the unknown, but not necessarily bad future they were sailing into. 

Yuuri decided that he very much liked the prospect of such a future, especially when it was spoken of by a man like Viktor Ivanovich.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback <3
> 
> In case I didn’t already mention it in the previous chapter, Baron Roman Romanovich Rosen was a real historical figure. You can read more about him here: http://article.archive.nytimes.com/1922/01/01/107040216.pdf?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJBTN455PTTBQQNRQ&Expires=1512501826&Signature=RmihNRn28SD4z3X90ha7GWYL%2B3M%3D
> 
> The assassination attempt in 1880 really took place and it was only one of three attempts before they finally managed to finish Alexander off for good. Read more about it here: http://www.unofficialroyalty.com/march-13-1881-assassination-of-tsar-alexander-ii-of-russia/
> 
> Apart from that: there‘s finally some Yuri in this chapter, yay!!

Yuuri Katsuki was quite a lot more drunk than was appropriate and Viktor did not know how to save his dignity before he made a complete fool out of himself. And yet, he could not help but think that he was quite the amusing sight with his flushed cheeks and slightly unfocused gaze. It was not so much that the man was in any way impolite or brutal, as was often the case with drunken folks; he merely was a little louder, a little brasher, more prone to interrupt someone than he had before. It had to be his nervousness, Viktor assumed, since gospodin Katsuki’s self-confidence seemed to rise with every sip he took, effectively getting him out of his shell of shyness. 

Still, when they moved from the salon into the small library to take their coffee and smoke a cigarette – in Yakov Ivanovich’s case a cigar, whereas Doctor Katsuki seemed to prefer a pipe over the slender cigarettes Baron Rosen and Viktor lighted for themselves – and gospodin Katsuki almost sweeped the sugar box from the table in an unmistakably enthusiastic gesture of his hand, Viktor decided to interfere a little by moving closer to him so that he could fully capture his interest. Gospodin Katsuki looked at him with wide eyes, as if seeing him for the first time. Viktor bit the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling too much. 

“What is it that fascinates you so much about languages?“ he asked, which caused the young man to perk up a little more.

“Well, see, languages are a bit like...“ He paused a little, but continued soon enough, “They are like music. Everyone makes different music, yes? And it sounds different for everyone too. So flutists hear music in a different way than, say, violinists or pianists. But I want to understand them all – I want to hear what they hear, understand what they understand, the flutists and pianists and violinists. You can never understand everyone, just like you can never speak every language there is, but you can try! And it’s – it is building bridges, and I like that. I think that if you speak a language, then you, ah, in a way you begin to think like people who speak that language. Or at least you understand better why they pronounciate or phrase soemthing the way they do. And I love that! I love people! I think humanity is so fascinating. You know, what you said earlier really reasoned with me – humanity takes a leap – that’s beautiful. You’re beautiful – your words, I mean.“

Viktor could not help but laugh quietly in delight and was relieved that Baron Rosen’s attention was turned away from their conversation for the moment. Unthinkingly, he reached upwards to touch his lips and chin with his fingers before lowering his hand again; gospodin Katsuki’s eyes had followed the movement and he seemed to be even more flushed than before. “How many languages do you speak exactly, then? I know you can speak Russian, French, obviously Japanese...“ 

“And several dialects of all of them!“ gospodin Katsuki said with an uplifted index finger and smiled. “Never underestimate the importance of understanding dialects! I mean – I don’t understand many Russian dialects, admittedly, because studying them was the hardest. But I hope to catch up with that during my stay here! And uh, I speak English too, American and British English. I can write all of them too! Though your alphabet gives me a bit of a headache and I am pretty slow, but I can manage! I’m better in oral practices, I have to admit.“

Viktor bit the insides of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too much. “You’re doing fine so far.“

“You’re flattering me,“ Yuuri said and looked up at him with a smile, his eyes shining with giddy drunkenness. “You’re a very nice man, Polkovnik Nikiforov. Ever since I arrived here in St. Petersburg, you have been nothing but nice to me. I’m sure your friends are happy to know you.“

There was nothing Viktor could do to keep his heart from warming. He felt it gradually, like the slow caress of a mother’s hand, and shifted a little in his seat. From the corner of his eye, he could see Yakov Ivanovich look at him with a frown during his discussion with Baron Rosen, but he chose to ignore it. Instead he said, “Please, call me Viktor Ivanovich. We are all friends here, yes?“ 

“Are we?“ gospodin Katsuki asked and looked so hopeful that Viktor could not help but smile and nod, fighting the urge to reach for his hand. Were they real friends in a comfortable situation, with no prying eyes and just gentle gazes amidst warm, drunken laughter, he probably would have dared to. As it was, he did not act upon his wish and instead settled for a sip of coffee. 

Gospodin Katsuki, however, did not seem to share his intention. It had to be the wine, nothing but the wine, that caused him to nudge his chair closer to Viktor until he leaned forward closely enough that his warm breath ghosted over Viktor’s cheek so freely, so tenderly like a gust of wind. “If I can call you Viktor Ivanovich, you can call me Yuuri. That is just fair, isn’t it?“

“Yes,“ Viktor whispered. He could feel the other people’s presence in the room so clearly that it almost stung on his skin and yet, helplessly he looked into Yuuri Katsuki’s warm brown eyes for a little more before he cleared his throat. Immediately he had all the attention on him, varying from friendly smiles to Yakov Semyonovich’s frown. “I think gospodin Katsuki had a bit too much to drink, so I’ll accompany him back to his lodgings.“ 

“Ah, yes, that is a fine idea, Viktor Ivanovich,“ Baron Rosen remarked with a smile, “It seems that our guest probably is not accustomed to our wine yet. I apologize, gospodin Katsuki, we should have warned you!“

Yuuri genially waved his hand with a smile and shook his head. “Your wine is fantastic and the company is very fine too! You have nothing to apologize for! It is a lovely evening so far-“

“Good night, gospodin Katsuki,“ Yakov Semyonovich interrupted him bordering on rudeness, but not quite there, and Viktor was glad for the support because now Yuuri nodded and smiled, getting up from his seat and faltering only ever so slightly in his step. Viktor was at his side in an instant to subtly take his arm and steady him, which earned him another open smile. After more well-wishes an a few quickly exchanged words in Japanese between Yuuri and his father, Viktor accompanied him out of the salon, still steadying him by the arm. 

They walked along the hallway in slow, unhurried steps; Yuuri was a warm weight against his side and Viktor looked at him from aside every now and then, watching his face and smile. He seemed almost serene, save for his slightly wavering steps that caused him to lean a little more against Viktor with a small sigh. “What a beautiful night, don’t you think? I’m happy you got me out of there, I feel so...small, sometimes. I try to be big, but I feel so insufficient in front of all the turmoil I should help prevent. It’s so pathetic, I know...but I can’t help it. I’m sure you don’t know that feeling...I have heard about you even in Japan, so many people know what a hero you are...I’ve never fought in a war, I would be terrible at it – I’m even terrible at this! But no – for tonight I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to feel like that – I feel alive! I want to feel alive. Do you know what I mean? I want to feel big. Does that make sense?“

“Yes. I understand,“ Viktor said very softly. Suddenly the walls around them felt too close; he was relieved to push open the door and lead Yuuri through the inner courtyard. At this time of the day, darkness had settled over the trees that loomed over them like silent, tall giants. Their steps crunched on the ground as they walked over to the Katsuki’s lodgings; they were completely alone underneath the few windows that were still alight, winking in the Winter Palace’s tall façade like a few tired stars. Next to him, Yuuri was shivering quietly, so Viktor hurried to get him inside again. After a moment, he chose to speak again, deciding that Yuuri probably would not remember in the morning anyways. “I think...I have always strived for honor and greatness. My father always pushed me to my best, and I am – I like it, not the killing, but the planning, the scheming, the warfare itself. In some ways, strategic planning is like art for me, even though it may sound barbaric. I do not wish for war; I just don’t really know a life without it.“ 

“Viktor Ivanovich,“ Yuuri said after a while when they had entered the building again, “That is a very sad thing to say. You want to tell me that you never found any value in your family or your friends?“

“Of course not,“ Viktor replied, “My friends are very important to me, but...I think, in a way I have always been selfish, that is probably the reason why I am still alone. And I am good at what I am doing – I wouldn’t be where I am now if I wasn’t. And I like being respected for what I do. I don’t think I am alone with this, though! Aren’t we all striving for respect and honor? In the end, that’s what you want as well, and it absolutely is your right to do so! I think you’re doing a great job so far. What you can accomplish with a little more self-confidence is amazing! You have so many skills others can only dream of, you can open so many doors with what you are able to do. I am very interested to see what your help will achieve.“

They had arrived at the guest quarters and Yuuri looked at him with a small, warm smile that easily reached his eyes. Viktor thought that perhaps he should have just given a servant the task of accompanying Yuuri Katsuki back to his room, given that it would have been more according to the usual procedure. Then again, he had wanted to make sure himself that Yuuri arrived safely; one never could know these days, and since the assassination attempt on tsar Alexander II. in 1880 right in the heart of the Winter Palace it did not hurt to be a little extra cautious. Viktor did not think of himself as an overly wary or paranoid man, but he was no fool either; tsar Nikolai II would not have made him guardian for the little tsarevich if it were otherwise. 

With a small bow, he opened the door leading to the guest quarters and said, “I hope you enjoyed the evening, Yuuri.“ What a delightful feeling it was to call the other man so intimately by his birth name alone! Logically, he knew that father names simply were not usual for foreigners and that therefore they did not make a difference between calling someone by their name alone and calling someone by name and father name; his heart, however, beat faster anyway. He was quite sure that there existed some honorary suffixes that he could have used in Japanese, but Yuuri as well as everyone else too had neglected to inform him about them so far, so he decided to make do with what he had. “I wish you a good night and pleasant dreams.“

“Thank you very much!“ Yuuri replied with a small bow on his own, “I am looking forward to see you again tomorrow – and of course the tsar and his family, I think.“

Viktor smiled and watched him retreat into the rooms before he took his leave and returned to the salon. The conversation he attended there was not much longer; Doctor Katsuki took his leave an hour later, thanking Baron Rosen for his support as a translator and promising to look forward to the following day. Baron Rosen bid them goodnight not much later until Yakov Semyonovich declared his retreat as well and Viktor was free to leave for his own quarters.

Instead, he chose to go on a short walk through the dark streets of St. Petersburg. The freshly fallen snow crunched softly underneath the soles of his boots as he wandered into the stars. A strange restlessness had taken hold of him, settling heavier in his belly than he was used to. Certainly there had been times where he had felt unable to sleep, fitfully throwing himself into activities that kept him busy, but it had never felt like this. It was a strange sort of energy that possessed him and drove him forward, into the cold and the snow towards the sea, where sharp winds whipped through his hair. He thought of his mother, a cold and distant woman who had never wanted a child, much less a son, and who had died out of pure spite when he was a little boy of six years. His father, a strict and unsmiling man who valued honor and honesty more than everything else, had never married again, choosing instead to raise him on his own. Opposite to his father, who had never intended to seek friendship or pleasantries with others even though he was well-respected and feared enough, Viktor had always liked people – and they liked him. Earning their trust and loyalty was easy, forming real connections that surpassed shallow sympathy was not, which probably was partially the fault of Viktor’s nature. He was not sure if he was capable of true love, love that surpassed his quiet need of being valued and cared for, love that was as unconditional as the one he wanted directed towards himself. No, he did not consider himself a good man, but he was not a particularly bad one either. People were wonderful, strange beings and humanity was something he found himself thinking almost tenderly of.

He went to bed late that night, and was woken by a servant telling him that His Imperial Majesty and his family had arrived. It took him a while to remember where he was and what had happened the evening before, but then he dressed as quickly as possible, washing his face and combing his hair as best as he could before he walked out in brisk steps. 

The private rooms of the Imperial Family were not far away and he knew the way across the courtyard and into the building by heart. Servants greeted him discreetly and opened all doors for him so that he strode forward quite fast, his steps quickening when he heard familiar voices. How strange it was to feel so bound to people he was not even related to by blood! And yet, knowing the Imperial Family like he did was an incredible gift not many had the honor to have been bestowed with. With a smile, he pushed through the last door and entered the family library. 

“Vitya!“ He smiled and opened his arms at the clear, high voice that yelled his name in utter anger. A small, blond flurry of limbs flung himself at him with the power and speed of a cannon ball; he caught the boy with all the ease that five years of experience had given him and pressed him against his chest. Young tsarevich Yuri Georgievich kicked and struggled in his arms before he finally relented and pressed his small head against Viktor’s chest. “The travel was awful and boring!“

“In French, Yuratchka,“ Viktor reminded him tenderly, which earned him a growl and an attempted bite into his hand. The tsarevich was an unruly, spoiled child with the manners of a wild bear cub, and Viktor adored him to death. “Don’t forget your education, hmm?“

Behind them, tsar Nikolai II. chuckled heartily from the chair he was seated in, one leg comfortably slung over the other. Viktor gently lowered Yuri down where the boy immediately started to cling to his leg, which made it a little difficult for Viktor to salute respectfully in front of His Imperial Majesty. In the end, he managed, albeit not very impressively. The tsar chuckled again and waved his hand with a smile. “It is good to see you, Viktor Ivanovich,“ he said, “My nephew has made my poor wife’s life considerably more miserable just because he missed you.“ 

“I did not!“ Yuri Georgievich yelled, but he did it in French, so Viktor silently counted it as a win and patted his head.

“I’ll stay by your side from now on,“ he told the little boy, who looked at him with big, sceptical green eyes. “Nothing will cause me to part from you for longer than necessary, I promise.“


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments! I‘m glad people like it so far.  
> In honor of the holidays, have a chapter with angry baby Yuri.
> 
> Enjoy!

There were a lot of life choices Yuuri regretted when he woke up the following day. The only thing he was glad for was that he at least had not drunk enough to feel much of a headache that morning, only a bit of dull ache behind his eyes. It was nothing he could not fix at least somewhat with enough water and a short walk. 

His father was already up and about when Yuuri was finished in the bathroom and emerged from it fully dressed, and he greeted him with a warm smile and twinkling eyes. “I should have told you to be careful with Russian drinks, Yuuri. They are a bit stronger than what you are used to. Ah, I remember the first time I was in Europe!“ He chuckled lightly and shook his head. “Your mother would have surely scolded me for almost causing a diplomatic incident, but Russians at least take things like that with humor.“

Yuuri groaned a little in shame, which caused his father to chuckle a little. “I’m so sorry, father. It won’t happen again.“

“Well, at least Viktor Ivanovich was kind enough to escort you back to our rooms,“ Toshiya replied, “And it didn’t seem as if everyone was insulted by you, so I’m sure it will be fine. How do you feel?“ 

“Quite alright, but a short walk will do wonders for me,“ Yuuri decided after a slight pause. “Do you need me in the next two hours?“

“I don’t think so,“ his father replied with a wave of his hand, “Just go and be careful, it will be fine as long as you are back in time for our meeting with the tsar and his family.“

Yuuri nodded his thanks and went out of the door, fiddling with the buttons of his heavy wool coat as he walked out of the building into the fresh air. Sunshine greeted him that was entirely different from yesterday’s sharp winds; today, the air was mild and becoming and as he took a deep breath, he could feel his head clear out. Perhaps a short walk along the sea would do wonders for him, he thought and therefore decided to head out of the Winter Palace, confident that someone would surely point him into the right direction. 

He stopped when he heard laughter from the bushes and trees on that pretty little spot of green in the middle of the Winter Palace that had to be quite nice in summer, and smiled when he saw that it was Viktor Ivanovich – no, Viktor! – who gracefully leaped into one of the bushes just when Yuuri was looking at him. His eyes widened when Viktor hauled out a small child, a boy with blond hair he wore at chin-length by his feet, laughing again when the boy struggled and spit curses at him that he should not even know. It was unmistakably the tsarevich, Yuri Georgievich, and Yuuri stood frozen at the unashamed, almost careless way he was treated by Viktor. Had it been a child of the Japanese emperor, nobody would have dared to simply lift him up by his feet and settle him onto their broad shoulders to gallop around pretending to be a horse, as Viktor was doing at that very moment. However, the little boy undeniably had fun; while he was carried around, his face cleared from the scowling expression he had worn when Viktor had fished him out of the bush. 

Deciding to move on without bothering them, Yuuri wanted to cross the courtyard as quickly as possible and so he tried to will his boots to crunch a little less on the soft blanket of snow that covered the ground. Yet it seemed that fate had something different in mind; when he had almost reached the entrance leading to the frontal part of the Winter Palace, he heard Viktor shouting his name and turned around. The man was waving his hand into his direction and even with the distance between them, Yuuri could make out the big, hearty smile on his face. It was with a smile on his own that he made his way over to the two figures standing in the patch of snow that should have been green. They were the only people outside, which was a little surprising for Yuuri, but he decided not to question it. 

“Good morning,“ Viktor greeted him with obvious mirth in his eyes, “You seem to have overcome yesterday’s rendezvous with Russian alcohol.“

Yuuri could not help but feel embarrassed by the mentioning of his almost faux-pas and cleared his throat. The tsarevich was cradled against Viktor’s chest and looked at Yuuri with mistrusting green eyes. He was a pretty boy with chubby, reddened cheeks and soft blond curls falling around his face. The small mouth was set into a grim line that tightened even more when Viktor softly jostled him a little and said in Russian, “Yuuri has the same name like you, Yuroshka.“

He spoke out Yuuri’s name with that soft lilt of his tongue that Yuuri liked so much about the Russian language in general, yet found even more sweeter when it poured from Viktor’s lips. The man had a warm, becoming voice that always seemed to hold a little bit of unspoken amusement, and Yuuri wanted him to say all the words of the Russian language, just to hear them, just to be able to feel and imitate them. The boy, however, seemed to be completely unfazed by the beauty of Viktor’s pleasing voice. Instead, he narrowed his eyes until he looked like an angry wet cat and said in a surprisingly spitting tone of voice, “I’m the only Yuri in this court that counts, especially when the other one is a foreigner. He is beneath me.“

While Yuuri looked utterly stunned at the boy who had insulted him just like that, Viktor only patted Yuri Georgievich’s head and scolded very mildly, “Now, now, Yuroshka, you don’t want to embarrass me in front of others, hmm? What would your uncle think if he found out how you treat his guests? Perhaps I should introduce both of you properly then. This is gospodin Yuuri Katsuki, son of the Japanese ambassador Toshiya Katsuki and a quite good translator. Yuuri, this is tsarevich Yuri Georgievich, who is pleased to make your acquaintance. Isn’t that right, Yura?“

The boy scowled again and hid his face against Viktor’s shoulder without a word. Viktor looked at Yuuri and winked, his amusement evident for all to see as he softly stroked the boy’s blond hair. Yuuri did not know whether to feel insulted or not and decided to go with amusement as well, bowing to the little boy who stared at him for a moment before quickly hiding his face again. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness, and of course I would be pleased to be your humble servant.“ 

“Of course you would!“ the boy chirped indignantly from where he was still hiding while he tried to brush off Viktor’s hand from his hair with even more indignation. “But I’m sure you can’t even play proper games. Ambassadors never can, and I bet that is true for their sons too.“  
“What would you like me to play with you, Your Highness?“ Yuuri replied gently. By now, it was definitely amusement he felt. The tsarevich clearly was a child that had been spoiled rotten enough to not feel an ounce of obligation towards modesty and politeness.

Now he looked up and down on Yuuri with assessing eyes before he very firmly said, “Vitya is my pony, you can be the enemy and I will shoot you.“

“How will you shoot me, Your Highness?“ Yuuri answered and inclined his head a little, “I can’t see a weapon on you and I am quite fast. What will you do if you don’t catch me quickly enough?“

Yuri Georgievich’s face turned towards him at that and his cheeks reddened a little more. “Impossible. My pony is very fast, and I will touch you with the hand of death and then you will be dead and I will be the winner!“

Sometimes Yuuri was quite glad that life did not imitate art. Viktor laughed at the boy’s words and shook his head before he fondly pinched one of the tsarevich’s cheeks. “My dearest Yuroshka,“ he said with a smile, “I don’t think that Yuuri is in the mood to play such games with us. Another time, perhaps? It seemed that you were on the way to something, I really did not intend to keep you from it for so long.“

“Oh no, not at all,“, Yuuri hastily replied and tried to ignore that he was sharply watched by vivid green eyes. “I merely wanted to go on a short walk to clear my head a little before dinner with His Imperial Majesty and his family.“

“Where were you headed to?“

“The sea.“

Viktor smiled at that and gently lowered the boy in his arms onto the ground again where he put a black fur hat on the boy’s head and firmly secured it. They watched Yuri Georgievich strut off and kick a large stone in the process. He looked like an adorable ball of fluff in his black fur coat and hat and Yuuri could not help but smile as well. “I love the sea. The seagull’s cries are what means home to me. Perhaps Yuri Georgievich and I can accompany you? I could show you a few nice places and it would be good for the boy to get some fresh sea air.“

Yuuri considered this offering and then nodded. “That would be great, thank you very much.“

Viktor informed the servants about his leave together with the tsarevich and hailed a carriage for them after that. The boy was squeezed between them, looking at Yuuri with still mistrusting eyes and huddling closer to Viktor’s striking form. Yuuri could not help but watch his profile, the sharp curve of his nose and the lips that formed a smile when the man turned his head towards him. Caught in his actions, Yuuri lowered his gaze and stared at his hands. He belately realized that he had forgotten his gloves and he rubbed his fingertips together that were starting to get cold. 

“You’re supposed to wear gloves when snow covers the streets,“ the tsarevich quipped with a triumphant grin, “That’s what uncle always tells us. He says that only dumb people don’t wear gloves when it’s cold.“ 

“Well, cold hands definitely are a bother,“ Viktor interjected and Yuuri watched him with surprise as he gently peeled off his leather gloves to hand them over towards Yuuri. “Here, take these. My hands are more used to the cold than yours, yes?“

“Oh,“ Yuuri heard himself reply very softly. His cheeks felt really warm as he took the gloves and pulled them over his hands. Viktor’s warmth seemed to still cling onto their insides and he chased its lingering ghosts, clenching his hands a little until the black leather pulled taught over the back of his hands. “Thank you…that is very considerate.“

“You’re very welcome,“ Viktor answered equally gently. For a moment that seemed to last forever, their eyes met and Yuuri only managed to look away in embarrassment when the carriage rumpled over a particularly rocky part of the street and shook them hard enough for Yuri Georgievich to squeak in indignation. Yuuri watched Viktor as he wrapped his arm around the boy in a rather carelessly seeming gesture, only to pull him closer against his side. The affection he held for the boy was obvious and Yuuri smiled at that, wondering whether Viktor had chosen to be Yuri Georgiviech’s bodyguard or whether he had simply been appointed and then grown into the position. Seeing him like this, content and smiling, it was hard to imagine that he was known as a furious fighter, merciless and ruthless, although Yuuri had not heard anything about him being cruel so far. Was the war something Viktor enjoyed, or was it something he had been born into? Yuuri only knew that he personally certainly was no friend of it, despising its cruelty, even though it was the war that had brought him to Russia, only to meet this fascinating person. 

Without any haste the carriage rattled through the cobblestone streets of St. Petersburg. Yuuri could not help but feel that the city was much different from what he was used to, no matter how much Japan’s government tried to incorporate Western ideas into the daily life of every Japanese living in a bigger city. It was the way people talked, their soft streams of Russian mingled with French and the occasional German in-between, the way they motioned their hands, the way the houses were built. Yuuri had seen a little of Russian life during short breaks on the way from Vladivostok to St. Petersburg, but this was a big city unlike every small Siberian village they had shortly visited on their journey. It breathed around them like a sleeping sea serpent curled around cold stone, waiting for spring to awaken it and roar with power. Despite his shy nature, he did not feel intimidated by St. Petersburg’s looming presence, probably due to the fact that he was with a man who seemed so much at ease with everything and everyone around him. 

Little was said on their way to the coast; Viktor seemed content to look at him with a small, unreadable smile, and Yuri Georgieviech was one of those children that rather scowled and pretended to be mortally offended in what Yuuri deemed to be a quite amusing imitation of angry adults. He had to admit that the boy with his golden wisps of hair and his big green eyes looked like an angel fallen from heaven, but during their ride the tsarevich proved to have a rather potty mouth which he blamed partially on Viktor’s influence. Viktor merely laughed at that and patted the boy’s head while Yuuri silently thought that Viktor did not have the air of a man who had to swear a lot to express his feelings, so perhaps the source of Yuri Georgievich’s foul vocabulary laid elsewhere. 

Finally Yuuri could see the ocean opening up before them. It was so much different from the river Neva that flowed through St. Petersburg like a particularly fat, langourous vein – the ocean was vast and wide, glinting with promises in the sunlight, shiny coins of light dancing on its surface. As Yuuri stepped out on the carriage, his feet touched fine sand and the breeze carried over the smell of the sea. Above them, seagulls cried their lonely tales into the sky; Yuuri watched their graceful figures soaring high above him until he was startled by Yuri Georgieviech lightly brushing his side as he stormed off towards the sea. Viktor came to a halt next to Yuuri and smiled at him with apparent delight. For the first time Yuuri noticed the sword he was carrying and wondered how he possibly could have overlooked such a detail. It was a splendid weapon on top of that, the hilt and sheath adorned with gold and azure inlays that spoke of its value. 

Apparently Viktor had noticed him staring, for he said with quite an amused tone of voice, “Did you know that most people in my country consider it gutless to kill someone with a gun or any other kind of firearm? No – for them, killing someone has to be done with a sword to be honorable. Unless, of course, it is in the course of a duel. Perhaps you have heard of our fabulous poet Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, who has done so much for the Russian language and died due to the wounds he suffered in a duel? What a great man that was, and what a death he had!“

“And what do you think of it?“ Yuuri asked and looked over to where Yuri Georgievich had knelt down to form sand into a small hill, not caring in the least that his expensive clothes were getting dirty in the process, as was and had always been the way of small, unruly children.

Viktor followed his gaze and smiled at the boy before his face grew thoughtful. “Usually I would make a joke when asked about this,“ he finally said, “But something tells me that I can be very honest with you, so let me say that I think that it does not really matter whether you kill someone with a blade or a firearm – I have done both, and there was no difference in how their blood clung to my hands. I acted in defence of my country and that is what probably makes it honorable – but for the mind, it remains murder all the same, and the people I killed are dead no matter what I killed them with, so what should it matter to me? Do you think I am wrong in this?“

“No,“ Yuuri said very honestly and turned his head to look at him, a little surprised when Viktor met his gaze with a solemn expression. “I think you’re completely right. I loathe war – I loathe battles. It’s nothing I can often say out loud, I know, but I have always believed that there are other means to settle disagreements and achieve things. I loathe that most people regard it as honorable when there are other deeds I personally find so much more honorable.“

“For example?“

“Honesty. Kindness. I think in times like these the most honorable deed is perhaps to talk to people with open heart and open ears.“

“You’re a gentle soul, Yuuri,“ Viktor finally said and smiled at him in a way that reminded Yuuri of mellow morning sunlight. “I fear for you – and I admire you at the same time. I think you have something that draws people to you. I think I would like to introduce you to my friend Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, I have the feeling that you might like him. He is quite sick at the moment, I’m afraid, but maybe if he gets a little better…I will read some of his story to you, if you allow me, I think they would be enjoyable to you. And it could further help you with your Russian, yes? Although you speak quite well, my friend, I have to give you that.“

“I would be delighted,“ Yuuri replied, feeling befuddled yet pleased. On a whim he asked, “May I ask you something?“

“Everything.“

“Why did you offer me to only call you by your given name? We don’t know each other that well yet and from what I know of Russian customs, it is rather unusual…“

“I have been called a rather unusual man before,“ Viktor shrugged. “Call it one of my eccentricities. However, what caused me to offer it to you-“

“Yes?“

“I think – I think we have a connection.“ Viktor smiled at him again with the softness of morning light. “I think we were destined to cross paths, for better or worse. I think there is a lot on earth that we cannot explain, and I feel strangely drawn to you, so please – allow me to listen to you call me by my given name alone?“

“Always,“ Yuuri whispered, and he felt that he meant it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahaha, I really have no update schedule, but I do have an excuse as to why this chapter is so late: I am currently writing chapter 9 and wanted to get a bit ahead with the story before posting the next story. At least know you folks know that I don‘t plan on abandoning this growing monster in the next months. 
> 
> Have some pining Viktor in exchange.
> 
> Just for information: The [Okhrana](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Okhrana) was Russia‘s secret police force and feared for their eyes and ears everywhere, even in the palace. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_My dearest friend_ , Viktor wrote later that evening, a letter that would soon find its way to Paris where it would be delievered one of his dearest friends, aristocratic diplomat Christophe Giacometti, in all secrets. _Once more my beloved country is close to war – and yet the only war that concerns me is the one clutching my heart. Ah, now I finally understand your warnings of love, of its poison that threatens to consume us…_  
_His Imperial Majesty made the decision to be not exactly welcoming towards the Japanese delegation. Supposedly Her Highness Tsarina Alexandra Fyodorovna feels under the weather – there is talk of a new pregnancy among the servants, but as you know I have little heart for gossip and do not care for much else beside Her Highness’ wellbeing, no matter the cause of her sickness. Thus, all official business has been delayed until further notice. Doctor Katsuki, whom I perceive as honorable a man as any, has taken it with stride, just like his formidable, splendid son._  
_Oh, my friend, you would certainly love Yuuri Toshiyovich – as people have started to call him around here, you know our need for patronyms – not as much as I do, but enough. Rarely have I met a person that has impressed me so deeply, that has so deeply imprinted upon me that my heart cannot find rest anymore. I shall not speak of it loudly, but I need to tell you, only you, of the lightning that has suddenly brightened all my life. I feel as if I never lived before I set eyes upon him for the first time; I feel as if I merely existed before meeting him, merely doing what I was meant to, always seeking, never finding – and now I am changed, forever and irrevocably, and I shudder in terror before it._  
_He enlightens me in a way nobody ever did before and the way he and his father – a gentle man, worthy of the utter respect Yuuri Toshiyovich pays him – are treated pains me. You remember my valued fellow countryman Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchew who once wrote, ‚You cannot understand Russia with your brain, you can only trust in it’. And I do trust in it with all my heart, and just like him I love my country very much, which only adds to my pain because I respect and adore His Imperial Majesty as much as Russia herself, but there are decisions on his side that make my heart heavy. It is with this heavy heart that I stand on his side and smile because I cannot and will not leave the Romanovs. Let them have their faults! Who of us is able to cast the first stone? I know them as people, and perhaps that is my greatest pain; I cannot see them as only our rulers when I laugh and eat with them and keep Yuri Georgievich under my wing as if he was my own child. Their pain saddens me, and their joy makes me smile._  
_But the same is true for Yuuri, yes, Yuuri, whom I have known for only such a short time and yet he has burst through me like sun and moon and all the stars. He makes a fool of me, and perhaps my heaviest burden is that I cannot speak of him to anyone else. I must keep what threatens to pour out of me in my heart alone, for we are destined to exist only in the night. And for all I know, maybe he is not like me in those matters at all, maybe I am erring in the way I sometimes feel him look upon me, and what if I drag him down with me into scandal and shame? I would never forgive myself. So I will keep this to me and you must burn this letter as soon as you have read it. Men like us who do not limit beauty and passion to certain aspects that are valued by society, we know of the dread and the shame in a way not many others will ever understand._  
_Perhaps Yuuri is like me after all, but I am too fearful to ask, to try for more hints that could give it away. Who am I to coax out of him what he does not intend to give up freely? If he is like me, he knows of the danger that is the same everywhere in the world, except, perhaps, for tiny little specks of hope. If he is not, then I shall speak of it all the less. If only I wasn’t so alone in all of this! It is true what they say – that one has never known true loneliness before he has not tasted what he has missed all his life. And with Yuuri, I feel like a man having wandered through the desert for the longest time before a single drop of water touched his dry lips and reminded him of the sweet taste of life. Never would I have expected to experience this. Love only ever occurred to me as something that was not meant for me to taste, and yet, I taste it all the same and I shall die of its innocent poison quietly and without regrets!_  
_If only you were here with me right now. I desperately seek for consolation in these hours of my life, for advice and friendly words. But the world is shrouded in darkness right now and my steps are hesitant in the shadows. I shall remain vigilant and modest as much as I am able to, and hope that nothing too harmful comes out of it._

With a sigh, Viktor set aside the pen with which he had written the words before him in something resembling a frenzy. Gazing outside, he found that sunlight illuminated the Winter Palace’s courtyard and for a while he watched a lone sparrow gently chirping its song in the naked branches of one of the trees. With another sigh, he got up and sealed it before hiding it away until he could give it to a trusted contact. Eyes and ears of the Okhranawere everywhere these days; nobody, or at least not many, could be trusted. He pressed his trembling fingers against his chest and breathed in deeply, feeling the ache, the terror, the exhilaration. And the loneliness of it, the strange loneliness that made him feel as if nobody before him had ever felt so passionately and wholesome for another being, even though in his mind he knew that this was not the case. What he felt was so different from anything he had felt before, so different from all the superficial crushes he had felt for other people, that it effectly separated him from others around him. It had only been a handful of days and yet he already felt altered.

It was a shame that Yura was already asleep, otherwise he would have looked for the boy and entertained him in some way to distract himself. As it was, it was late enough that nobody except for a few servants were still awake, so he decided to get some air. As restless as his legs were right now, he would not have found sleep anyways. 

Night greeted him with her cool gaze. He thought of visiting some friends, poets and composers and musicians that kept ungodly hours of productivity and probably would welcome him with a cup of tea, but ultimately decided against it. It would have been impolite and perhaps not the right action to quell his quivering heart. Solitude was what would cool him down if he was lucky, solitude in this vast, beautiful city that smiled at him with dark eyes and bright teeth. Viktor did not think as he slowly walked across the courtyard and out through the palace gates. Snow was gathering the more winter approached with the undeterred steps of a soldier on a mission; Viktor took it in stride and smiled upon St. Petersburg with the indulgence of a mother. 

And St. Petersburg, like an unruly child fiercely in love with her mother, bestowed upon him a gift. It brought Yuuri to him, Yuuri with a red nose-tip and fingers clad in the gloves Viktor gave him and eyes that twinkled in the darkness. He stood still at the sight of Viktor, lips parted in surprise, and Viktor stood equally frozen as his gaze settled upon him. A mere strip of cobblestones was the only thing that parted them, and with a deep breath Viktor crossed it and turned towards Yuuri with a smile. “I did not think there was someone else on the streets that late at night!“

Yuuri smiled at that, hesitantly but warmly, and cast down his eyes like a maiden, yet shy he was not. “I thought the same. Hello, Viktor Ivanovich – Viktor, I mean.“

“I couldn’t sleep,“ Viktor said and came closer, close enough that he could see tiny droplets in Yuuri’s dark hair where the light of the streetlamps shone on his form. “Perhaps you had a similar problem?“

“I was – I had to think,“ Yuuri murmured and lifted his head again. “My father, he – I am just – I am sure His Imperial Majesty does not keep us waiting for trifle reasons, but I am simply…wondering. I spend my days leading correspondence in three languages, but other than that I do nothing much. There is a lot of surprising free time on my hands, but I don’t know where to go, so I spend most of it in the library…not that I mind much, though! I adore libraries. But…“

“I understand,“ Viktor said after a while and smiled warmly. “Would you like to accompany me for a short walk?“

“Gladly,“ Yuuri quietly agreed and took the arm that was cautiously offered to him. Viktor bit the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from exploding right then and there at the sweet innocence of it, the warmth against his body. Yuuri was nineteen – far from a child, yet young enough to make Viktor wonder how experienced he was in matters of life and love.

“Tell me of your home,“ he said and from the corner of his eye he could watch Yuuri’s face light up at that, so he silently congratulated himself on choosing the right topic. That Yuuri was terribly homesick was an open secret, although Viktor was not sure how open it was to other that did not regard Yuuri so well as he did. “You mentioned that you have a sister?“

“Mari, yes. She is older than me – oh, I probably told you that already…ah, well. We’re seven years apart. She is married, but her husband is not there much. I don’t think she minds terribly, though. My parents considered her wishes regarding her husband and picked someone she could live with, but I think there is not much passion in it. I think she never…she never was really suited for married life, she never was really interested in it.“

“Well, I can relate,“ Viktor confessed with a small laughter, “As Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev once wrote, a marriage is only worth something if it is unhappy because then at least it is productive for creativity, but I cannot see any value in neither an unhappy marriage nor a happy one. Does she have children, your sister?“

“Not yet.“ Yuuri sighed. “We all just try to make our parents happy, no?“

“I couldn’t say,“ Viktor said honestly, “My father was quite different than yours. And I never had a sister to worry about, so I cannot say that I know how you feel. Even though you are the younger one, you have to have the need to defend her, isn’t that right?“

“I think,“ Yuuri replied very carefully, “That Mari-nee-san can look after herself. She has always had her own will, in a way. She would never do anything that would bring grief or shame to our parents, but she has learned to find the greatest possible happiness amidst her possibilities. In that, I think, she puts me to shame. She is very sure of herself and her abilities. I often have the feeling that something is missing, in me, in my life…it is hard to describe. Perhaps my Russian is not good enough for that.“

“Your Russian is brillant,“ Viktor softly assured him. They were wandering along the Newsky Prospect by now. What a strange sight it was, seeing the usually so bustling street deserted and forlorn in the moonlight, only walked upon by them, only looked upon by them and a few beggars huddled into the shadows! He stopped to gaze at the water beneath them, for they had reached one of the bridges that were part of the Newsky Prospect. Yuuri stood close beside him and gazed into the small river as well; what he was thinking, Viktor could not know. All of a sudden he felt a strange wave of embarrassment and shame wash over him and he quickly shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, even though he did not feel cold. “I wish I could do something…to show you how well I regard you.“

“You barely know me,“ Yuuri said very quietly after a pause,“Yet you bestow so much friendliness upon me. Why is that? I don’t feel very well-regarded by your country in general, why is it different for you?“

“I listen to you talk, about politics, about literature, about art, in so many languages and from so many angles, and it humbles me because I can – I can feel that you like what you are talking about, that you don’t just talk about it because you want to impress someone. You make me want to know more, myself, you make me want to engage.“ Viktor took a deep breath and resisted the urge to press his fingertips against his own cold cheeks. “It has been a long time since someone managed to engage me, to fully engage me…people are dull, or they are entertaining for a short while, but nothing more than that. I don’t have the feeling that they can really teach me something.“

For a while there was nothing but the breeze around them, tugging on their clothes with impatient fingers, and the gentle murmur of the ever-flowing river. To be like water, Viktor thought, to flow away free from time in an endless circle, to already know everything that was and is and will ever be! I know nothing, I have never known and will never know nothing but a single thing: That there is a greater truth in life that I am on the brink of discovering, yet I am unsure whether I will ever be able to fully grasp it.

“I don’t think I can teach you anything,“ Yuuri finally said very quietly, so quietly, in fact, that Viktor had to lean closer to hear him. “There is so much I need to learn myself…there is much I need to overcome first. If anything, it is you who can teach me – I look at you and I am in awe. There is something in you…I am not even sure you really notice it, the way people gravitate towards you… Do you believe in stories?“

“I believe that sometimes they are the truest things in the world,“ Viktor replied.

Yuuri smiled at that and slowly nodded. “So do I,“ he said, “And I have always believed that they had to come from somewhere, that someone has to feel, to experience what is described, that to be able to put something so mysterious and indescribable into words one needs to know what it is before. Does that make sense to you?“

“Yes, although I am not sure I can follow your words.“

“What I mean is – I believe you when you tell me that you feel connected to me, when you tell me that our paths were meant to cross. I believe there can be something like that – cases that have nothing to do with logic. I believe that – I think that you are one of these persons that…“ 

Something, perhaps a sort of awareness of what he was about to say, something that undoubtedly came from the bottom of his heart just like the rest of his words, prevented him from speaking any further and he turned his head away in embarrassment. Yet Viktor felt stunned at the honesty in his words and stared at him in wonder. For a moment he felt as if he had seen deeply into Yuuri’s heart, and he felt strangely honored by the thought. Something in his chest began to bloom, the first shy tendrils of hope that maybe he was not the only oen who felt this strange infatuation that could not be explained logically. But how to ask? How to know? 

Viktor was no stranger to love. He had flirted with it, had grazed it and delved into its more carnal parts, yet never truly had discovered love’s essence. What he knew of love for men had been hidden in shadows and secretiveness, always. What he knew of love for men had been quick trysts, at the end of which only was even quicker departure with a kiss on the cheek. With women he had found joy in being able to openly admire them, bestow them with beautiful things and sweet-smelling flowers. He loved dancing with them, twirling them around and watching them laugh, liked how women smelled, and he would have liked Yuuri, he was sure, even if he had been a woman. It was different with women.

“I feel blessed,“ he said after a while and Yuuri looked at him with surprise in his warm eyes. “I feel – so very happy that you think so highly of me because I think very highly of you as well, and I would like to offer you any sort of entertainment I can give to you during your evenings, if you like. During the day I need to be with my protege, of course, but at night, when he is asleep…“

Yuuri smiled at that and nodded. “Gladly,“ he said. “You are very fond of the tsarevich, are you not? I remember our small trip to the beach a few days ago… He certainly is a quite lively child.“

“His life is not easy,“ Viktor said with a small sigh. “He is so little, already the heir of Imperial Russia and times are hard. His education is strict and his uncle keeps an eye on him all the time, yet dotes on him a little too much, perhaps, they all do, but he can be such a charming little boy. It may not seem that way, but he can be surprisingly considerate if he senses that something is wrong and with a boy like him, every sweet gesture is even sweeter simply because it comes from him. Quite unfair towards the girls, but what can I say? I am no one to speak, and it’s not my duty to educate and raise him, I merely watch over him and prevent him from dying.“

“Well, so far you’re doing a good job,“ Yuuri replied with humor dancing in his eyes and Viktor could not help but laugh at that. They slowly made their way back to the palace in an unspoken agreement, walking so close next to each other that their arms brushed every now and then. After a moment of hesitation Viktor offered his arm again and smiled when Yuuri, blushing faintly, took it. What he thought of it Viktor could only guess, but in this case the fact that they both came from different cultures worked in his favor.They did not talk much on their way home, but it was just as well. Viktor found that he enjoyed the silence that was free from uneasiness or awkwardness. There was a special quality to people one could be quiet with, he thought to himself, and as if sensing his thoughts Yuuri looked at him and smiled. 

They parted ways in front of Yuuri’s quarters that evening and when Yuuri softly bid him good night, Viktor was unable to help himself. It was foolish, it was bold and brash, it was the exact opposite of what he had sworn to follow – discretion, reservation, patience. All of this was thrown out of the window when he bent down and lifted Yuuri’s hand to gently kiss the air above his gloved fingers. What he would have given to press his lips in full against that leather he had gifted Yuuri with, to burrow his forehead in those tender fingers! And yet, the night had already seen too much and as he lifted his head again, Yuuri’s eyes rested upon him in stunned silence before his face quickly heated up.

“I have to go,“ he murmured, twisting his hand quickly out of Viktor’s loose grasp, and then he was gone. Viktor stood there in the silence of the courtyard, helplessly, utterly lost in the darkness of his own thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I‘m tired, I‘m cranky, have an update. I don‘t like this chapter very much, but at least there is a kiss and that makes everything better.

The tsar left them waiting again, only showing himself in fleeting, cold greeting and talking to Yuuri's father for about half an hour in nothing but Russian before departing again. Only one or two days later the negotiations were truly starting and even then they were tedious. The tsar, albeit a man with the reputation of a quite serene nature who seemed to be disinclined to go to war, showed a little too clearly what he thought of Japan and its people. It was humiliating to say the least, and Yuuri clearly felt the sting of it. By now, November had come to St. Petersburg; the city would have been lovely, Yuuri mused, were it not for its inhabitants. Over the course of two weeks Toshiya’s serene face settled into a grim mask at the difficulties the tsar and his ministers posed. The offer of Russian Manchuria in exchange for Japanese Korea was soundly rejected by the tsar; Toshiya, more agitated than Yuuri had ever seen him, spent many an evening pacing in their rooms. 

“He is an arrogant fool, that emperor,“ he whispered to his son, “He wants to get both and firmly believes we will bow to his will because we are barbaric heathens in his eyes. And that viceroy of the East of his, that Alexeev – a weak man, but fanatic on top of it. And the emperor tells us time and again that he does not want war, yet he will cause one with his indecisiveness!“

Yuuri rubbed his eyes. His father was right. What was worse was that it seemed as if the tsar’s ministers were more interested in fighting each other like cat’s and dogs. Only a month before their arrival, at the end of August, the emperor had fired financial minster Witte, a progress-oriented man who had contributed much to Viktor’s beloved Trans-Siberian Railway and generally highly improved Russia’s economy. Rumors had it that Witte was part of a jewish conspiration, but everyone in the Winter Palace, including the Japanese delegation, knew that it was just that: a rumor, fabricated by interior minister Plehve who Yuuri despised for his antisemitic rampages. Yuuri met him a few times in the palace, usually just rushing past; but he could not help but wonder if anyone else saw the hardened face of a man who should have been grateful for his higher – and utterly useless – position as president of the Council of Minister the same way he did. Witte was not delighted; he was fuming. The tsar was balancing quite carefree in heights he probably could not properly assess.

Then again, not all Russians Yuuri got in contact with were impolite or ignorant, not by far. Baron Rosen proved to be a good partner for intellectual sparrings in all languages Yuuri spoke and Viktor all but tripped over himself to accomodate him whenever he had time. Sometimes he was aided in this by General Feltsman, who was a grumpy, yet well-meaning and surprisingly well-educated man. He as well despised Plehve with a passion, which probably had to do with his own Jewish background; whenever he and Plehve were in the same room, they went at each other like dogs and cats. Even though he spoke French quite poorly, he did not seem overly bothered by this and continued to alternate between French and Russian when he was talking to Yuuri. It was really only due to his heritage that it was not him who had been appointed commander of all military forces and political chief in all matter of the Russian expansion to the east.

And Viktor – Viktor… Yuuri felt his face heat at the mere thought of him. Calling him by his name alone had started to feel too intimate, too much a few weeks ago when the man had kissed his hand with that heated expression of his. He was not really avoiding him, not with all the political and diplomatic stress in the last weeks…although that probably was exactly what he was doing. The man still was lovely as ever, surprisingly attentive and oh so very charming whenever they were in the same room, yet that was just what bothered Yuuri. Somehow, Viktor’s presence created a strange, foreign feeling in his guts that he could not shake off. He tried to keep it secret from his father and quite succeeded; Toshiya was worn down and anxious by the situation as well, even though he tried to maintain his serene demeanor, and therefore he had other things to worry about besides his son’s behavior. 

Yuuri had taken to spending a lot of time in the library. There, amidst rows and rows of books, he felt both comfortable and safe. Rarely he saw another soul for more than a couple of minutes here and if someone really chose to remain for a longer while, they settled down in a chair and did not take much notice of the foreigner hiding in the library’s back. Books were something Yuuri could get behind; humans were much more difficult to understand. He was not terrible with other people, his parents had assured him time and time again – and he himself actually believed that was the case as well – and yet when someone behaved so uncommonly as Viktor, he was at a loss of what to do.

He could not stop himself at night, alone with his thoughts, whispering to himself nothing but one thing: _Viktor. Viktor._ How sacred he held that name – and how dangerous this was. Something told him that it was shameful and bad to share this kind of intimacy with a man, above all a man of Viktor’s kind. He was Russian military, having earned his reputation by warfare, and decidedly not someone who would be interested in a peace treaty. Then again Viktor never offered anything but seemingly genuine interest in the negotiations, even though he did not contribute much to it. And whenever he looked at Yuuri with his strikingly blue eyes and that wide, open smile, something treacherous started to flutter in Yuuri’s chest. No, he forcefully told himself, following that feeling would lead to something that would bring his ancestors shame, he was sure of that.

And yet – and yet letting go was impossible. Viktor was one of the only friendly faces in St. Petersburg and Yuuri was weak in his mere presence. He tried to avoid him as much as possible and found excuses made up on the spot whenever Viktor tried to suggest any activity. But since his heart was not really in it, those excuses were weak and both of them knew it. The embarrassment and shame he felt at Viktor’s disappointed look whenever he turned him down just led to Yuuri avoiding him even harder. He knew that it was foolish and weak and that he should have found another way to deal with the matter, yet he found himself indecisive and stalling. How was he to deal with this situation that brought confusion in his heart?

However, he had not expected the man’s persistence, or rather he had severely unerestimated it. On a day that was as sunny as it was windy, Viktor finally captured him and trapped him for good. It started innocently enough; Yuuri, on the way to the library with the full intention of burying himself there underneath as many layers of books as possible until the evening, all but ran into the Russian’s rather strong chest without realizing the identity of his obstacle at first. When he started to apologize profusely, it was the gentle clasp of his hand that caused him to shut up and look up in amazement. Viktor smiled at him warmly, while his eyes remained cold in their infinite blueness. 

“Yuuri Katsuki,“ he said gently and his smile grew into something wide and friendly that was full of sharp danger. Yuuri immediately sensed this and froze in Viktor’s grip, unsure whether moving was a good idea. “It is so hard to take a hold of you these days. Tell me – did I offend you in any manner? Pardon my frankness about this, but I can’t help but wonder if this sudden coldness towards me is something I can blame on myself.“

“Oh – no,“ Yuuri stuttered, taken aback by Viktor’s frankness and a certain gleam in his eyes, “I was just …“ The longer he looked at Viktor, the more all excuses died on his lips. While he searched for words, he felt himself flushing and cast his eyes downwards. They were standing in the middle of the hallway where servants threw curious glances at them whenever they passed by. 

Viktor did not stop looking at him, but his gaze considerably softened and he nodded once. “I see,“ he said quietly and glanced around before offering Yuuri his arm like a gentleman, “May I accompany you to the library? You were about to go there, weren’t you?“

Yuuri hesitated for a moment before he exhaled slowly and nodded, linking his arm with Viktor’s. It was normal to do so in Russia, he reminded himself over the sound of his hammering heart. It meant nothing, nothing at all, especially since it was not the first time Viktor had offered him his arm … His mind wandered back to the night were Viktor had bent down and taken his hand, his gloved hand … Viktor was a tall, comforting presence next to him; he held him gently without being overbearing, even though he very well could have been. Yuuri did not have many good experiences with men of any kind of military. But Viktor held the door open for him and said nothing for a good while as Yuuri busied himself to spread his notes on the table he had claimed for his studies. They were alone, the library completely deserted at this time of day, and for once it made Yuuri nervous. 

“Yuuri,“ Viktor finally said very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please. I don’t understand what I did to upset you. I thought we liked each other.“  
“I think that’s the problem,“ Yuuri blurted out, unable to help himself. He flushed under Viktor’s surprised gaze, but straightened his back, his fingers gripping a leather-bound book he had taken from one of the shelves. “You’re a dangerous man,“ he finally murmured without looking at Viktor, “I think I like you a little too much.“  
“Too much?“ Viktor repeated slowly and then deliberatedly moved into Yuuri’s field of vision so that he was forced to look at him. “What do you mean?“

Yuuri swallowed. “Please don’t…don’t force me to explain it.“

Viktor’s gaze was incredibly soft. They said nothing for a while, but Yuuri did not shrink away when Viktor’s hand slowly brushed his shoulder.

“Yuuri,“ he said, still whispering, “Do you know what I like?“ Yuuri said nothing, his tongue twisted in a knot. After a moment’s pause, Viktor continued, “ I like music, and playing cards with my friends, listening to beautiful and smart women talk, I like books that move me … and I like you.“

Yuuri opened his mouth, but not a sound came out of it. 

Viktor was looking at him again with soft, friendly eyes. “Do you know why I like you, Yuuri?“

Yuuri shook his head, clasping his fingers into the hem of his shirt. He was still unable to speak, heat rising into his cheeks.

“Because you are gentle,“ Viktor said, still smiling in such a strange, sad way. “I admire you greatly. I already told you why. I felt like dying when you started to avoid me, I don’t want to live like this.“

Yuuri smiled helplessly. “Are all Russians as dramatic as you?“

“Only the ones that have known love’s greatest joy and sadness,“ Viktor said and cocked his head. 

Yuuri closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “I…I don’t want to live like this, either.“ He could feel Viktor’s finger stroking his shoulder. “But I don’t want to bring shame to my family, Viktor. I have duties…I simply cannot…Not for a simple tryst.“

“Nobody says anything about a simple tryst,“ Viktor said, “This is not what I am talking about. I am talking about love. I don’t want to couple with you for a few minutes in a dark corner and then leave you, I want to love and cherish you as long as I can. We can be careful…nobody will know.“

“How do you know?“ Yuuri asked quietly, “How do you know it’s love?“

Viktor’s gaze met his steadily. “I just feel it. I just know.“

“Then we are doomed,“ Yuuri said with a sigh and allowed Viktor to take his hand. “Since I might feel the same for you.“ 

He met Viktor halfway when Viktor gently lowered his mouth on Yuuri’s. 

Their kiss probably only lasted for a few seconds; the Okhrana, the Russian secret intelligence, had its eyes and ears everywhere, especially in St. Petersburg. But those few seconds felt like and eternity. Yuuri was all too aware of the warmth of Viktor’s hand on his shoulder as they shared a single breath, and when they parted again Yuuri found himself flushed and Viktor unwilling to entirely let go of him. 

“My birthday is on the 29th of November,“ he finally whispered and watched Viktor’s eyes widen with delight, “If you are not opposed to it, I would…I would like to spend it with you if our duties allow us an evening of rest.“

“Then allow me to make arrangements,“ Viktor whispered back and Yuuri smiled helplessly when the man could not resist pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I think it will be possible for me to break away from Yura for an evening. As for you…I cannot say, but I hope you will find an equal possibility. Deliver me a letter to my quarters and tell me that you thank me for recommending _Anna Karenina_ to you and that you will gladly read it if you can come. If not, tell me that you do not have the time yet.“ He gently squeezed Yuuri’s hands. „Leave the rest to me. I will see to it that your birthday away from home will be thoroughly enjoyable, I promise.“

“I don’t doubt it,“ Yuuri replied with a smile. Viktor returned it and finally let go of his hand with a sigh.

“Lunch with His Imperial Majesty and the family calls me,“ he said with audible regret, “Please enjoy your time in the library. I’ll try to find you later, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to leave Yura, I’m afraid. The child is like a sponge – he soaks the atmosphere up and is quite tense at the moment.“

“Please don’t worry,“ Yuuri replied softly, “We’ll find each other again one way or another.“

“Always,“ Viktor said, a strangely solemn expression on his face before he smiled and turned. Yuuri watched him leave and, clutching the books tightly to his wildly beating heart, lifted his fingers to press them against his own lips, still tingling with the ghost of a kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: they're doing The Sex in this chapter, but it's all quite romantic.  
> The poem Viktor wrote down is by I.F. Annensky, a Russian poet who died in 1909 and was quite important in the Russian Silver Age. I decided to lose his wordplay - star is a feminine word in Russian and so the pronouns equally talk about a star as well as a female lover - because I felt that it would be more important to Viktor to make his point clear how gay he is for Yuuri. Therefore I changed the pronouns to male pronouns. Sorry, gospodin Annensky.

Most people only registered Yuri's temperament and tended to overlook how perceptive the boy could be. When Viktor carried on with his life as if nothing of importance had happened, as if his heart had not been tempted to leap out of his chest, most people did not ask any questions nor notice a significant change. Yuri, however, was not so easily fooled.  
“You're smiling more,“ he said almost accusingly when Viktor took another walk with him through St. Petersburg. The tsar had not been overly enjoyed since it was not that safe in the streets these days what with the socialists growing in numbers and getting more vocal every day, but Viktor firmly believed that the boy needed to get out every now and then. Moreover, he had to get a feeling for his people and his city in order to be able to rule them properly later, especially when there was something to their dissatisfaction. Perhaps – not that Viktor would ever dare speak that thought out loud – that was something that Nikolai's education had severely lacked. “What happened?“  
Viktor laughed and lifted him up onto his shoulders, causing the boy to squeal before he carefully held onto his small legs. “Why do you think something happened?“  
Yuri mumbled something and grabbed Viktor’s hair with both hands, laughing when he yelped in short pain. Sometimes the boy was a devil, but Viktor did not mind as much as he probably should and never found it in himself to admonish him. Yuri never held back with anyone and that was something not many people managed. “Let’s go to the sea, I want to watch the birds!“ he demanded instead of giving a direct answer.  
Viktor decided that it was just as well, hummed in agreement and bounced Yuri heartily on his shoulders as they walked along the street. St. Petersburg was bustling with life at this hour. They passed women with shawls slung over their heads that curtsied when they recognized Yuri, screaming children that raced each other between people loudly admonishing them. Viktor carefully held onto Yuri when they passed the market, bursting with cries and colors despite the winter that had St. Petersburg already in its grasp, hitting them with thousands of scents mingling together in the air. Yuri demanded and finally pleaded until Viktor bought them two pryaniki, glistening in the cold winter sun from sweet honey and berry juice. They sat down on a bench free from snow to eat them, Yuri stubbornly climbing into Viktor’s lap and staying there since it was the warmest spot available, and together they watched the people passing by.  
“I want to play ‘people life‘,“ Yuri said and graciously allowed Viktor to wipe his hands clean with his handkerchief. When he got his hands free again, he pointed at a woman selling fish. “What kind of life does she lead?“  
Viktor made a thoughtful noise. “She is married,“ he then said, “and her husband loves her very much, but he alone does not earn enough to keep her and their two children fed, so she has to sell fish. He goes out to the sea every day with his tiny boat and he always looks forward to come home again to her.“  
“They have a boy and a girl,“ Yuri added eagerly, “The boy is older and watches his sister because he loves her!“  
“Just like you with your cousin Nastya?“ Viktor asked in silent amusement and bend down to re-tie one of Yuri’s shoelaces. He thought of Anastasia, that bright-eyed little goblin with her wide smile and gentle eyes, and could not help but smile. It was already clear to see that there was nobody in the Romanov family that had her temper; if her grandfather had been still alive, he probably would have adored her to bits and if Viktor had to play favorites among the girls, he would have chosen her without hesitation even though she was only two years old. There was something so charming about her and her chubby little face.  
Yuri beamed and clung onto him again. “She’s already a devil,“ he proudly told him, “When I’m tsar I want her as my right hand. I don’t care if she’s a girl, if people talk badly about her we’ll just hit them.“  
Viktor smiled a little helplessly. “You can’t just hit people just because they do not approve of your actions, especially if you’re the emperor. The tsar has to be kind to his people; he wears the crown, but it’s the people’s will that lets it remain there.“  
“Fencing, then,“ Yuri declared, “I’ll teach her fencing. And maybe some stabbing with smaller stuff. Can we go to the ocean now?“  
Viktor nodded and gently caressed the boy’s head. He had his heart on the right spot, even though he was still young. And thank God he was that young – thank God that he had good chances of surviving the darker times that loomed before them in the near future without too much harm. Well, there were always things to live for – beautiful, magnificent people, balls and birthdays and weddings. Poetry and paintings and laughter and love. Viktor lightly touched the signet ring resting on his right hand and smiled when he pictured it on Yuuri’s finger. What a lovely thought.  
“Aunt Alix doesn’t feel well,“ Yuri said when they had reached the coast and Viktor tried to teach him how to skip stones over the surface, even though it was impossible due to the ocean’s nature and Yuri’s impatient temper. “I don’t know why. I sneaked inside when the doctor came and he said that her body was fine.“  
“She still mourns that she is not pregnant as previously thought,“ Viktor explained and sat back to watch Yuri climb on one of the bigger rocks. The tsar and tsarina so desperately wished for their own male heir that it was painful to watch. There was no need to strain themselves so much, Viktor had always secretly thought; Yuri was like their own son anyway and he was a strong, healthy boy with a strong heart and temper. “It makes her sad, you know?“  
“But she’s got the girls and me,“ Yuri said with a shake of his head and jumped down from the rock again to stalk his way over towards Viktor. “Being sad all the time is boring. I bet it’s even worse because of those diplomats trying to pester uncle Nicky all the time, blabbering about war. Even you are distracted by that stupid fat Chinese boy!“  
“He is Japanese,“ Viktor corrected him and only accepted the boy clinging to his leg because Yuri never clung to the one that was a little weaker since the war. “I think he is a quite well-mannered, intellectual young man with more modesty than you will ever know, my spoiled little kitten.“  
“Do you like him because he is modest?“ Yuri demanded to know and looked up at him with furrowed brows. “Uncle doesn’t like him. He says you can’t trust them. And he has tiny eyes, really tiny!“  
“That’s not true,“ Viktor gently disagreed, “He has beautiful eyes, very lively. And those little glasses! Quite fashionable, I would say. But besides that – I am sure that His Imperial Majesty has his reasons for his distrust, of course, but to me the Katsukis seem to have honest intentions.“  
“They’re worse than Germans!“  
At that Viktor laughed and ruffled his hair. “Let us pray to God that you will be able to show more diplomacy and respect towards others with different opinions and wishes than yours when you grow up,“ he told him with a smile to which Yuri only grunted in answer. Together they watched the seagulls for a while until Yuri grew bored and started to complain about the cold and Viktor hailed a cab for their way back to the palace. 

After their day in the city Yuri was justifiably tired and Viktor brought him to his room to rest where the boy almost immediately started to take a nap. On his way back outside he ran into the tsar and bowed quickly.  
Nikolai seemed distracted, but he nodded in greeting and even clapped his shoulder. “Everything went well, I take it?“  
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. I think your people were pleased to see the tsarevich among them,“ Viktor replied dutifully, to which Nikolai smiled kindly.  
“You have made yourself very acquaintanced with the younger Katsuki,“ he then said very carefully.  
“I believe that it is of utmost importance to demonstrate our goodwill and proper upbringing to our guests, Your Imperial Majesty,“ Viktor answered equally carefully, but without missing a beat. “And it can never hurt to show off the splendid wonders of St. Petersburg, as well as her power and wealth.“ He smiled when the tsar looked at him thoughtfully and stood a little straighter und his gaze.  
Finally, the tsar seemed satisfied and nodded in agreement. “I should allow you to accompany Olya and Tanya into the city at some point,“ he mused, “maybe even Maria when she is a little older. They are so interested in the lives of simple people, perhaps it would be a good idea for the girls to get more in touch with them.“  
“I would be honored, Your Imperial Majesty,“ Viktor replied with a smile and another bow, until Nikolai waved his hand in gracious dismissal and walked on.  
Viktor slid away and went into his rooms in the Winter Palace to change into a different attire. He could have gone home to the house that was his by birthright and yet was seldom frequented by him. On some days he convinced himself that it had nothing to do with the feeling that his father’s ghost was still haunting those walls. Admittedly, it also really was easier to always stay in Yuri’s vicinity and therefore use the rooms provided to him in the palace. Thus, he had brought the belongings he needed the most to those quarters: his favorite clothes and books, a few photographs and painting utensils. Sometimes, when there was a time window where he could enjoy himself apart from social and political duties, he liked to indulge himself by idly sketching or painting whatever came to his mind. Occasionally it helped with his nightmares as well.  
Now, though, there were no nightmares. There was only the joyful anticipation of spending the evening of Yuuri’s birthday with him in a quiet little restaurant where most people did not know them and where Yuuri could probably pass as Mongolian that were not that unheard of. And afterwards, they would go home to the house Viktor dreaded and fill it with life. He had so little servants that it had been no problem to send them all home for the evening after telling them to ready the rooms for a guest. Only two of his most trusted servants, people he had known since he had been a child, would remain. Viktor felt a tingling in his fingers and smiled to himself as he dressed for the occasion. He had chosen a dark three-piece suit with a red tie and breast pocket handkerchief in the same color. With another careful look in the mirror he nodded to himself, grabbed his coat and strode outside to meet Yuuri in front of the palace. 

The sky was melting in orange and yellow hues, dying down into purple and dark blue when he saw Yuuri, shivering a little in his heavy coat. Viktor walked a little faster to get to him and smiled when Yuuri’s eyes lit up upon seeing him. They clasped each other’s hands and arms for a moment, not daring a hug in front of the Winter Palace, before Viktor offered Yuuri his arm and they started to walk.  
“I’ve missed you,“ he told Yuuri quietly, but with feeling. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.“ And it was true. God help him, it was true.  
Yuuri laughed softly at that, his eyes twinkling in the gentle light of the streetlamps. “You’re being dramatic again,“ he said and then a little softer, “But I appreciate it very much. Just like I appreciate this – you taking me out for dinner.“  
“Well, it is your special day after all. I hope the rest of it was enjoyable at best and tolerable at worst so far?“  
“It could be worse,“ Yuuri said diplomatically. “But you make everything a little better.“  
Viktor felt his heart dance in his chest. He felt neither snow nor sorrow when he led Yuuri into the restaurant he had chosen for the evening, a quaint little thing with delicious food and owners that had known him for years and would not bother them too much. They found themselves in a secluded corner far away from prying eyes and Viktor smiled when their fingers briefly touched as they sat down. He knew how to entertain people, had done it since he had been old enough to do so, but with Yuuri he found himself entertained well. Their banter came easy and with quick grace and carried them well over the evening. Viktor laughed more than he could remember having done in months and between the two of them they emptied two and a half bottles of wine along their dishes. How fascinating it was to discover the person Yuuri became when he was a little drunk: shameless and wanton, and even more beautiful than usual in the soft candlelight. Viktor wanted to drown in him, his fingers aching to touch him. In the end it was Yuuri who slid his foot against Viktor’s under the table so very casually as they all but lounged in their seats during dessert.  
“I’ve got a little something for you,“ Viktor mentioned and watched, throat dry, as Yuuri slowly suckled on the spoon he had scooped up his mousse au chocolat with.  
Yuuri’s eyes lit up and he sat a little straighter, spoon slipping from his lips. Oh, never had Viktor been more jealous of a simple piece of cutlery. “What is it?“  
“Would you like to receive it right away or wait until we are in a more secluded environment?“ Viktor asked and felt an anticipatory shiver running down his spine at the positively feral look Yuuri gave him.  
“Is it something that should not be received in public?“ Yuuri grinned when Viktor sputtered into the glass of wine that he had raised to his lips.  
“Well, no,“ Viktor said, “At least not that part of the evening.“ Yuuri laughed at that. Smitten with the way his entire face lit up at that, Viktor reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and slid a big sealed envelope over the table.  
Yuuri made an intrigued noise and carefully broke the envelope that showed Viktor’s family sigil. Viktor watched his reaction like a hawk as he reached into it and gently unfolded the drawing that was inside. From the paper looked his own dark eyes with a faint smile and serene posture back at him. There was one of Viktor’s favorite poems, only slightly altered when it came to the pronouns used in it, written down in his looping handwriting underneath his portrait and Viktor saw him move his lips as he silently read them. When he looked up and their eyes met, Yuuri’s face was somber and gentle.  
“Please read it out loud to me,“ he whispered, “I need to hear it in your voice.“  
“As you wish,“ Viktor murmured and took a deep breath. “Среди миров, в мерцании светил oдной Звезды я повторяю имя…“ _Among the worlds, in the glittering of luminaries, I keep repeating the name of one star only._ Viktor could see Yuuri translate the poem as he spoke. “Не потому, что я его любил, a потому, что я томлюсь с другими.“ _Not because I feel love for him, but because I languish with friends._ “ И если мне сомненье тяжело, Я у него одной ищу ответа.“ _And when I am overwhelmed by doubt, from him alone I seek an answer._ Viktor smiled at Yuuri with all the softness he felt when he finished the poem. “ Не потому, что от него светло, a потому, что с ним не надо света.“ _Not because he gives light, but because with him no light is needed._  
For a moment there was silence. Yuuri’s chest rose and sank heavily and Viktor touched the tips of his fingers across the table before he finally murmured, “I am by no means a great artist, but I do have some skill and I thought…I thought that I wanted to give you something to show you my love.“  
Yuuri took a breath so deep as if he was learning how to breathe for the first time. His hand rose for a mere fraction and settled heavily over Viktor’s. For another agonizing moment he said nothing and then, with wetly shining eyes he whispered, “Take me with you and I will show you what it means to me.“  
Viktor smiled, squeezed his fingers for a moment and called for the bill. 

They were already kissing in the enveloping darkness on the backseat of the carriage Viktor called for them, fingers tangling into hair and coats. It was hard to get his spinning head together enough to untangle himself from Yuuri and pay their driver when the carriage stopped in front of his house. He allowed Yuuri a quick glance at its façade – old but in good condition, rich in décor, silent, dark except for two of the twelve windows that were illuminated – and then brought him inside where it was warm and safe.  
“This is where you live?“ Yuuri asked as Viktor helped him out of the coat between two kisses. “Do you live alone?“  
Viktor hummed and took his hand to lead him down the hallway until they reached the broad stairway leading upwards. “I spend most days at my quarters in the Winter Palace,“ he explained while Yuuri looked at the paintings from Viktor’s ancestors that lined the hallway in the upper floor with interest. “But I inherited this estate when my father died. I am the last of my line, otherwise he would have probably made sure to hand it over to someone else. As it is, I try my best to keep it well-maintained, but my heart does not particularly belong to it. Usually I just let my servants do as they please and inform them beforehand when I arrive.“  
He stopped at one of the last paintings in the row and gestured at it. From it mother’s serene, heart-shaped smile shone down on them, her strong hands holding the unimpressive shoulders of his much younger self while his father gazed at his wife with proud blue eyes so incredibly like his own. It was only his mother's hair - fairy hair she had called it – and her smile that connected Viktor's appearance to her and made looking into the mirror a little easier. Usually Viktor just walked straight past it, just like he walked straight past the other two paintings after it – one of his father in later years, hardened and broken, and one of himself with cut hair and solemn face.  
“My parents,“ he said. There was no denying it.  
“Well, it seems like you got the best of both of them, at least where looks are concerned,“ Yuuri finally said after he had studied the painting for a moment and smiled up to him. Viktor smiled back and felt something ease in his chest. When he offered his hand, Yuuri took it and allowed him to lead him further down the hallway until they reached a door. Viktor twisted the doorknob open and revealed his bedroom, lavishly decorated in purple and gold with dark furniture. It was warm and cozy since Viktor had told his servants to kindle a fire in the fireplace opposite of the canopy bed, a giant thing standing on golden lion claws.  
Yuuri took a look at it and grinned, but did not object in the least when that grin was swiftly kissed from his face. Instead he melted into Viktor’s arms as if he had never been anywhere else, as if that was everything he needed. Viktor’s heartbeat thrummed in his ears. He gave a startled laugh when Yuuri broke their kiss only to push him onto the mattress and straddle his hips. They kissed again, lips touching so softly that Viktor could their mingled pulse through them, then harder, more insistent, until Viktor opened his mouth for Yuuri and let him in. There was something endearingly determined about the way Yuuri kissed him and Viktor smiled against his lips, fingers tangled in Yuuri’s thick, dark hair.  
“Have you had many lovers before?“ he asked softly, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer, while Yuuri started to unbutton his waistcoat and the shirt underneath it.  
Yuuri looked up from his buttons and met his gaze. “You’re the first,“ he said without a hint of shame before he cocked his head. “Is that bad?“  
“Bad? No.“ Viktor shook his head and reached up to shrug Yuuri out of his waistcoat in return. He needed, craved to look at and touch Yuuri’s naked skin, needed and craved it with a burning desire that surprised himself. “I’ve had a few lovers before, but it doesn’t really matter either way, I guess.“  
“Then don’t think about it too much,“ Yuuri suggested and looked at him with tender fondness. Something squeezed around Viktor’s heart and refused to let go. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves for as long as possible, alright?“  
“Yes,“ Viktor whispered and caressed Yuuri’s cheek for a moment, smiling when his lover leant into his touch with a half-lidded, content gaze.  
They undressed each other without hurry, touching and caressing each other wherever they could. Yuuri’s skin was unmarred by scars, warm and smooth. He briefly wondered what Yuuri thought of the spiderweb of scars that covered his weak leg’s thigh or the slightly raised, round scar underneath his collarbone where a bullet had hit him. But Yuuri’s touches were nothing but reverent and curious when his fingertips slid over them; he neither stalled nor lingered, obviously eager to explore as much of Viktor’s body as he could. Viktor found himself relaxing into his hands and tried to give back as good as he got.  
He learned many valuable things. Yuuri was ticklish when he grazed his ribs and the insides of his thighs with his fingernails, but he moaned in delight when Viktor replaced them with lips and tongue. There was a mole underneath his left ear, usually hidden by his hair, but Viktor found it and kissed it until Yuuri playfully shoved him away with a low laugh. He liked it when Viktor sunk his teeth into his neck and sucked on it, not deeply enough to leave marks even though he so very desperately wanted to. Perhaps there would come a time where they could afford to be reckless; for now, it had to be enough. In return, he had nothing against the way Yuuri dug his fingernails into Viktor’s shoulder and drew him closer when Viktor leaned over him, safely nestled between Yuuri’s strong thighs, and brought their hips together.  
He coated his hand with oil before he wrapped his fingers around both their lengths, softly growling at the friction, the pleasant heat of it all. Underneath him Yuuri was shaking before he suddenly wrapped his legs around Viktor in an endearingly determined gesture, brought them even closer and mouthed at Viktor’s neck, gasping when Viktor’s fingers slid over a particularly sensitive spot. He could not remember the last time he felt so close to another being, so alive and aware of his own body and life in the arms of another. He was alive; he was alive and times were awfully, awfully frightening, but with Yuuri so close he did not feel afraid for even a second. This was life in its brightest, sweetest glory: Yuuri’s breath mingling with his own, the little shocks that ran through Viktor’s core as they moved in tandem, Yuuri’s fingers digging into his skin with just enough pain to remind him that pain meant being here, being alive, and then, finally, the final, exhilarating burst of energy that leaked out of him and left him sated, tired and so strangely, so endlessly happy.  
“I see you,“ Yuuri whispered later as they lay in the dark, hands and hearts and heads close in the darkness. The gentle, dying light of the fireplace licked across his face like a caress. Viktor touched his cheek, his nose, his jaw and thought that he believed him – and thought that he would give everything, everything to stay close to him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still reading this? Probably not, given the lack of reviews for the last chapter - or maybe I just can‘t deliver? Ah well, I‘m gonna finish this monster anyway, if only because I owe it to the boys. And maybe one or two spirits out there still like it.  
> I used footnotes for sources this time to try something new. You can find them in the notes at the end of the chapter to know where I got my info from.

Winter bled into the country, making it unbearable to breathe, and for a few short weeks Yuuri found himself utterly, deliriously happy.

He had never been that happy in his entire life. It felt as if he was alive for the first time, seeing colors where before there had been only washed-out variants of them. So easy it was to smile at people when his heart was near to bursting with love, with sympathy for everyone and everything. There were discussions, negotiations, but they all slid by Yuuri so quickly, so meaninglessly as if they had never existed. Toshiya noticed his son’s different behavior, but if he suspected anything, he never said a thing and Yuuri was grateful for it.  
Yuuri and Viktor spent every single possible minute with each other, sometimes only talking to each other in hushed whispers as well as openly about all the topics that delighted them: art and music and poetry and little bits of gossip about men and women from high social rank. They avoided politics, moving on to history and literature instead, talking about differences in their cultures and finding joy in shared customs and beliefs. And there was the physical aspect too, secretive hand-holding and stolen kisses whenever they could get away with it, and many an evening in Viktor’s arms or writhing with him between his sheets. Yuuri, who had never been overly interested in physical intimacy with anyone, found himself always hungry for more, more, more. And Viktor was so willing to give, so bright and intense in every touch, every gaze, every smile and every kiss.

December was a flurry of snow and lights, of skating across frozen rivers and rubbing cold hands, drinking too much vodka and not enough mulled wine. Yuuri was with Viktor for his birthday and got introduced to friends and acquaintances of him – for there were a few Viktor held dear and visited as regularly as possible in their salons where he was always well-received. He liked the artists, the freethinkers who did not hold back with their opinions and had almost no friends with a military background. Among those he regarded well was the lively, fierce artist and sculptor Elena Constantinova Luksh-Makovskaya who had tea with them one day on a short stop in St. Petersburg before she moved on to Vienna to work for the famous Wiener Werkstätten there. Yuuri was delighted to find out more about Viktor’s passion for painting when he watched them discuss art theories and sketch together. More than once, he was chosen as Viktor’s model and gladly obliged.

On more than one occasion they got invited for dinner with General Feltsman and his wife, Lilia Fyodorovna Feltsman-Baranovskaya with equally fierce opinions about everything and everyone and the grace of someone who had danced their entire life and did not know how to live without it. Yuuri was not surprised to learn that she had been the prima ballerina of the famous bolshoi theatre in her younger years and still spent her days training the newcomers with an iron fist that would have quickly elevated her to high ranks in the military had she been born a man.  
“I practically raised that boy,“ General Feltsman grunted one evening where all of them had a little too much vodka. “Reckless and stupid he is, never grew out of it and most likely never will. But when he wants to he can be brillant. A tactical genius, even though it is not always appreciated.“ He gave Yuuri a long, solemn stare. “And he has a heart of gold, that boy.“ General Feltsman pointed towards him. “Be very careful, Katsuki-san.“  
He left it at that, but it told Yuuri everything he needed to know.

And they visited Zinaida Nikolaevna Gippius, that beautiful and strong-willed poetic soul, married to philosopher and writer Dimitry Sergeevich Mereschkovsky. She dressed androgynous, spoke loudly and confidently about topics that mattered to her – and there were a lot of them – and supported her husband without limitations. The couple was often accompanied by author Filossofov, who clung to them both with equal adoration and obvious infatuation with Mereshkovsky.  
“Aren’t they social democrats?“ Yuuri whispered in Viktor’s ear one evening after they had barely managed to steer away from political topics and thus evading long and probably ugly discussions only just so. “I cannot imagine that His Imperial Majesty is pleased to see your acquaintance with Madame Gippius and Monsieur Mereschkovsky.“  
Viktor sighed a little. “I enjoy their spirits,“ he explained, “and somehow they enjoy my company, although I arguably present the system they hate. I like to believe that there is more than politics and they know that I do not condone those that think differently, even if they do not share my own sentiments. Maybe it is also because they think that they need to save me; I wouldn't be the first evoking that thought in them, but they mean well in their own way. God help that we will never have to find each other on different sides of armed conflict. His Imperial Majesty fortunately listens more to my opinions about them than others, so I can keep them and myself safe by telling him how harmless they are. After all, they are first and foremost artists, wouldn’t you agree?“  
They both knew the danger that art could present especially these days, but ultimately Yuuri decided that Viktor had to know what he was doing. He was living on the edge, but he did it so well that Yuuri found it hard to scold him for it.

As it turned out, the trio of Madame Gippius, her husband and Filossofov more or less got together like a house on fire with French diplomat Christophe Giacometti, one of Viktor’s closest friends. He was the son of a nobleman of Italian descent and a mother who had her son raised with her liberal, unconventional thinking. He stayed in St. Petersburg for two weeks shortly before christmas and smothered both of them with affection, alcohol and the newest gossip from Paris that made Viktor laugh out loud.  
“You need to visit me in Paris soon,“ he told Yuuri and Viktor with a voice so sultry that it sounded like honey dripping from a spoon. “He has told me so much about you, Yuuri-san, you would be surprised. That man…“ He lowered his voice just in case. “That was a terrible case of pining and I’m happy to see that you seem to have come to an agreement.“ He laughed when Yuuri flushed. “Your secret is safe with me. We special people have to look after each other, non? As it is, I hope the best for your negotiations and propose a vacation for several weeks in France afterwards.“  
“We’d be delighted if the chance arises,“ Viktor answered and gently squeezed Yuuri’s heart. In their merry round of acquaintances and, in Viktor’s case, friends it was so easy to forget the harsh, dangerous reality they were facing and instead dream of a future where they could spend infinite time with each other. Yuuri found himself dreaming with Viktor, dreaming of nights full of love and days full of laughter, and most of all dreaming of peaceful years where he could travel through the countries whose languages he had studied for so long, far away from the duties that bound them so tightly.

Yuuri, so utterly, deliriously happy for those few short weeks, knew that it was not bound to last. And he had never been more devastated to find that he was right.

In all honesty, Yuuri had looked forward to the tsar’s invitation for New Year’s Eve with the naivety and enthusiasm of a child. It was a small reception with not very many guests, most of them ambassadors and high-ranking military officials with their wives and daughters, but the New Years Eve reception was an important event in Russia and there was much hope that their invitation could be interpreted as a good sign. He had dressed properly for the occasion, quietly hoping that Viktor would like what he saw, even if they would find no chance to dance together. His father was anxious, but he had been anxious for the past few weeks; Yuuri, too consumed by everything Viktor had shown and given him, now noticed his father’s worry in all its strength and felt irrepearable guilt about it. Where had he been, gliding through the negotiations he had accompanied Toshiya to without really acknowledging, without really noticing them, as if caught in a permanent fog?

The Armorial Hall that was to hold the small event was beautiful. After a destructive fire in 1837 it had been decided that its fluted columns had to be gilded and so there was gold wherever the eye wandered. The edges of the hall were decorated with vast stucco panoplies; there was gold on the doors and windows, gold on the floor and ceiling too, and along the walls the coats of arms of all the provinces under Russian control. It was a magnificent display of wealth and power and Yuuri, despite having roamed the vastness of the Winter Palace for several weeks now, could not help but be impressed by it. The Armorial Hall was way too big for the small amount of guests that evening, but perhaps that had been intended.

And then he saw Viktor.

Yuuri swallowed as his eyes roamed the uniform Viktor was wearing, the dark blue hugging his shoulders, hips and legs in all the right ways. His golden buttons and epaulettes glinted in the light of the giant chandelier above them and on his shoulders were the golden shoulder boards with two thin red stripes that marked his rank. It seemed as if he held himself in a different manner as well: straighter, more refined and demanding respect from everyone who saw him. And yet, when he saw Yuuri a smile as bright as the sun broke over his face and tinted his high cheekbones rosy with delight. What a fool he was, that man, Yuuri thought helplessly, and subtle as a brickhouse on top of that; perhaps it was time that they needed to have some words about safety.  
And yet, when Viktor strode towards them and bowed before Toshiya first and then before Yuuri, all Yuuri could think of was how dearly he wished to take his hand and whisk him away in a waltz. He wanted to touch his hair that shone in the light like polished silver, wanted to caress his cheek that was freshly shaven and smooth, wanted to climb into his arms and stay there. They could do nothing more than smile each other for a fleeting moment, but there was all the more warmth in it.  
“Katsuki Toshiya-sama, it’s good to see you well,“ Viktor adressed Yuuri’s father in French who replied with a slight bow of his head and a genuine smile. “I hope you will enjoy this evening at least as much as I do. And of course the same goes to you, Katsuki Yuuri-san.“  
“Thank you,“ Yuuri whispered, unable to say more before he would have said everything. Thankfully, Viktor seemed to understand for he gave him another dazzling smile before he walked on to the next guests eagerly awaiting his presence.

The Katsukis soon enough found themselves busy as well. General Feltsman and Madame Baranovskaya-Feltsman came to greet them and exchange a few words. Baron Rosen, smiling as ever, introduced them to his wife and held a long discussion with Toshiya about the merits of the Trans-Siberian Railway as a manner of easier import and export of goods to and from Asia. Yuuri had the feeling that the man was hinting towards something, a possible final suggestion from the tsar, as well, yet the baron was not to be swayed to give them clear information. Perhaps he was not allowed to until tsar Nikolai II. had talked to them first.  
And talk to them he did. In a quiet minute, the tsar found them and invited them over to some more champagne. Not for the first time Yuuri thought to himself that he would have liked the man well enough had he not been emperor of Russia. The tsar was an intelligent, withdrawn man without arrogance, yet infuriating in his indecisiveness and evasiveness that could give him the appearance of impolite carelessness, along with his rather traditional approach of things. Not that there was anything wrong with traditional thinking, but sometimes there could be too much of it, at least in Yuuri’s opinion. With the heated, belligerent mood in all of Russia the tsar would have probably done well with a few fresh innovations.  
“I talked to viceroy Alexeev,“ tsar Nikolai II. told them amenably, sipping his champagne with slow, tiny swallows. “And I told him that it will not be a cause of war if your fleet landed in southern Korea(1).“  
Toshiya inclined his head. “And what would be the price that His Imperial Majesty demands for this offer?“  
“A Russian Manchuria,“ the tsar replied and watched their reactions. Toshiya already started to shake his head while Yuuri stood frozen at the impossible offer. There was no way their emperor would agree; too much had happened in the – sometimes literal – mud-wrestling that had occurred around Manchuria to not take it personal. “Korea under Japanese control and Manchuria for the Russian empire, I think that it is a satisfying deal. Tell His Imperial Majesty taiko-tenno Meiji that this is my last offer in order to avoid a war between our countries.“  
“I will cable to him as soon as possible, Your Imperial Majesty,“ Toshiya replied tersely. “But it is my duty to inform you that he most likely will decline your offer. You are an admiringly intelligent man. I do not have to tell you what that means.“  
The tsar took a deep breath. Yuuri saw deep lines around his eyes, even though Nikolai II. still was in his prime years. But they lived in hard times – even harder if one had to command a country as vast and diverse as the Russian empire. “Believe me when I tell you that I do not wish for armed conflict between our nations,“ he said. “But Russia is not just a country but a part of the world – in order to avoid a war, it is better not to try her patience or else it could end badly (2).“

They were doomed. Yuuri saw it plainly written on his father’s face, even though Toshiya smiled as serenely as possible and thanked the emperor for his suggestion. Yuuri mechanically followed his example and bowed when the tsar nodded at them and moved on to other guests, just like that. In a matter of seconds, the pipe dream of a life Yuuri had built for himself in the last few weeks was only that – a dream, nothing more, never to be achieved. _I am going to lose him_ , he thought with sudden, strikingly painful clarity. His eyes found Viktor’s strong, straight back and he bit the insides of his cheeks in order to keep himself from crying. It was the first time he experienced how harsh the gods could be, to let him find something so good, so pure and rip it away from him.  
“Yuuri,“ his father murmured and Yuuri looked up when he felt Toshiya’s hand on his shoulder. His father’s eyes were gentle and sad and all too knowing. “Let us not lose hope. And if there is no more hope, let us be grateful for the good hours we had – and the ones that are still left for us to have. Do not let them see your weakness. We are wolves among wolves, not helpless sheep, never forget that. Be merry for now, the rest will come later.“  
_I was happy_ , Yuuri wanted to tell him. Instead he nodded, throat tight with emotion, and straightened his shoulders. That was what his family expected of him. That was what everyone expected of him, and he had to remind himself that there were more important things than his personal fate. What did it matter that his own heart was breaking?

Somehow he survived the evening, drowning in alcohol, mindless chatter and meaningless smiles. It was four in the morning and most guests were already gone or too drunk to notice anything out of the ordinary when Yuuri finally managed to get a hold of Viktor.  
“Please come to the balcony with me,“ he whispered and Viktor obliged with a smile. Sweet Viktor; he must have sensed that something was wrong for he held tightly onto Yuuri’s fingers as soon as they were outside. They were alone in the cold underneath silvery moonlight, music gently streaming outside.  
“What is wrong, my love?“ Viktor asked him, brows furrowed in concern.  
Yuuri’s throat was tight. He shook his head once and Viktor relented. For a while they were silent, their fingers tangled as they looked at each other with small smiles.  
“They are playing the evening’s last waltz,“ Yuuri finally said.  
“So they are,“ Viktor confirmed after a second of listening. With warm eyes and one of those heart-shaped smiles Yuuri loved so much – good gods, he loved him, he loved him so much it felt like shattering – he bowed before Yuuri and offered his hand. “Would you do me the honor and dance the last dance with me, then?“  
“The last, and every other one as well,“ Yuuri whispered. He allowed Viktor to sweep him into his arms and disrupted waltz etiquette by putting his head against his shoulder, but Viktor stayed quiet. Together they swayed across the balcony in the cruel cold of winter in St. Petersburg and if Viktor noticed him cry, he was kind enough to stay quiet about that as well. _I am going to lose him_ , Yuuri thought and listened to his heartbeat, the way Viktor softly hummed underneath his breath. _And if he dies, I will never know_. _And this is all there will ever be – a last dance stolen away in the darkness, and yet…to hold him…to stay close…_  
“Stay close to me,“ Viktor murmured as if sensing his thoughts, tightening his grip. “Don’t go away – I’m afraid of losing you even though I can feel our heartbeats blend together. Stay with me for tonight. We will think about tomorrow when it comes. We still have time.“  
“I love you,“ Yuuri said and closed his eyes. He wanted to preserve the moment in ice for all eternity. Instead, it would soon be little more than a dream. “Viktor, I love you.“  
“And I love you,“ Viktor replied without missing a beat while they spun soft, languid circles over the balcony, the music faintly playing around them. “Never doubt that.“  
_A little while longer_ , Yuuri thought with rising desperation, pressed against Viktor as tightly as possible. _Let me have all of this a little while longer. Please. Please._  
But he knew that their happiness of a pipe dream, however brief it had been, was over.

And on January, the 24th of 1904, Japan broke off all negotiations and sent fleets to Port Arthur in a declaration of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Simon Sebag-Montefiore: The Romanovs. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson 2016, p. 515  
> (2) Direct quote from one of tsar Nikolai‘s letters, quoted after Simon Sebag-Montefiore: The Romanovs, p. 515
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com)!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovelies, I was really touched at the overwhelming support I got last chapter. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. I was able to finish this story (well, part 1 of it, there two more planned after Gore and Glory!) sitting in St. Petersburg and looking at the beautiful Winter Palace, and it was a special kind of delight.  
> This chapter is a little different than the others. The reason for that is that I tried to cover a war that in its entirety is almost impossible to cover, so I chose to resolve it by letting people write letters to each other and it mostly focuses on the Siege of Port Arthur, an important part of the war. For the sake of it, I decided to ignore that no way in hell would they be able to cover so much war-related informationslos freely in their letters due to war-time restrictions. I hope the outcome is somewhat satisfying.  
> My sources for this chapter come from:  
>  \- Simon Sebag-Montefiore: The Romanovs. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson 2016  
>  \- Collingwood, Harry: Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun. A Story of the Russo-Japanese War. (you can find this one online at Google books!)  
>  \- Connaughton, Richard (2003). Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear.  
>  \- several other smaller sources you‘ll probably find online somewhere.  
> Vitya‘s role in this war largely follows real-life military engineer and general Nikolai Tretyakov, who was a total bamf and done with Stessel‘s shit.  
> Gov‘s name is a small nod towards a super adorable Soviet tv-series with a kitten named Gov.

_Without date, folded in the inside pocket of Yuuri Katsuki’s waistcoat on his way back home_

My beloved,

how strange it is to imagine you gone by the time you will read these lines. It does not matter whether you open this letter – so hastily shoved into your hands at your departure like a shameful secret that needs to be hidden – at the train, or any carriage that brings you further and further away from me. All that matters is that you’re gone from my side and that it will be a long, long time until we might see each other again.   
I will live without you and you will live without me. Yes, that is certainly true; but truer still is the deep knowledge in my heart that even though I might live, it will be so much sadder without you. I don’t know whether I wish for you to feel the same – to miss me at least a little – or to wish for you to be spared from this feeling. There cannot be any communication between us while our countries are at war. It would be too dangerous for you as well as for me and the thought that I could be responsible for your suffering makes me want to perish. Surely you will smile now – I imagine it so clearly, that little smile in the corners of your mouth and in your eyes whenever you cannot help yourself – and you would call me helplessly dramatic were you with me, but it is nothing but the truth.  
Beloved, as Shakespeare writes: Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt thou the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love. We will see this through, one way or another, and then when it is over and we are all healthy and good, I will come and find you, throw myself at your feet and ask you if you still want me. You have been responsible for some of the happiest moments of my life and I have not yet fully paid you back.  
Take care of yourself and your family. I will do the same while holding your memory dear.

Always yours,  
Vitya

*

_Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov to Ambassador Christophe Giacometti_

St. Petersburg, 09.02.1904

My dear friend,

I hope this letter finds you well. Last night, two of our fleet’s biggest ships were heavily damaged, the Tsesarevich and Retvizan as well as our formidable cruiser Pallada. Nobody saw them coming and I personally blame Viceroy Alexeev for informing us so late. Can you believe that the tsar and his wife attended Rusalka last night without in all innocence and then, after coming home around midnight, I was rung out of my quarters in all urgency because His Imperial Majesty had received the latest news from Port Arthur! I barely had time to get into my breeches and when I arrived at his office, he did nothing but pace around and moan. His Imperial Majesty is stunned; whenever we meet he repeats his astonishment that Japan would commit an act of war without declaring one first. Someone like him holding certain values and beliefs just cannot understand why people would break a code of honor that is very important to him personally. Witte is not happy with him: I do not want to speak ill of him – cannot even really begrudge him – but he called His Imperial Majesty a timid child, unable to decide for one course of action. I am afraid he might not be wrong. But our fleets are large; with the right people to lead them we can very quickly make up for our mistakes. My hopes lie with Admiral Makarov whom I personally know – a good friend of Yakov, a very bright mind.   
I try not to think of the enemy as Yuuri’s people, but I find myself regularly failing and thus bound to the same hesitancy that has no place in times like these. At least God granted me a small mercy: I find myself gravely ill with heavy pneumonia since the end of January and thus am unable to attend the war myself. I try my best to support our troops from my bed, but there is only so much I can do. Yura is unhappy with the situation as well, as you might imagine: with the war capturing everyone’s attention and me bed-ridden and weak there is nobody to play with him except the girls – and whenever his and Olya‘s temperament meet something is bound to break, which does not excite the empress very much.  
Ah, mon ange, how heavy my heart is these days, and not for the “proper“ reasons, I am afraid. I miss him so very much. Whenever I try to tell myself that it was nothing more than a winter romance in a very exciting time, there is a voice inside me that whispers, ‘Do not lie to yourself like this‘. I wish I could visit you in Paris to escape my thoughts for a while. I wish we could have visited Paris together, him and me, and the thought that we probably will never do so breaks my heart. My physician is unhappy with my healing progress and rightfully so; I do not know whether I want to truly leave this bed in the near future. Better to stay put and let God decide what to do with me.  
Please give me word of something that might lift my spirits. I am eagerly awaiting your response.

Your quite exhausted  
lapin Vitya

*

_Tsarevich Yuri Georgievich Romanov to Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov_

St. Petersburg, 12.02.1904

Dear Viktor!

Aunt Alix told me to write letters in French for practice and I cannot stand her nagging any longer, so I do. Surely you heard by now that she is supposed to be ~~pregnang~~ pregnant. I hope this time it is really true, otherwise she will cry again and I cannot stand that either. I read ~~ye~~ the book you gave me. It was not as boring as I thought. Olya says I should read more, but I ~~don’t~~ do not want to, it is boring. Playing the piano is boring too; I told them I would like to play the ~~vuilin~~ violin. Many are bad at music when they start, but I will be the best.   
I hop you will be better soon. My birthday is soon, until then you have to be better so we can play outside. French sucks. I hope ~~yure eyou~~ you are not sad anymore because of the pig. Uncle Nicky says the Japanese are our enemies now, so I think you should forget him. Love is stupid.

Yuri

_Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov to Tsarevich Yuri Georgievich Romanov_

St. Petersburg, 12.02.1904

My dear kitten!

I have read your letter with delight and since you managed to write it so well I will do you the courtesy to reply in Russian. The violin is certainly a good idea; you will love how much you can get on people’s nerves by playing the wrong notes at the beginning.   
Yes, I have heard about Her Highness‘ pregnancy and wish her all the best. It truly is a message of joy in bleak times. What would you like better, a girl or a boy cousin?  
I promise I will be up and about until your birthday and then we will play as much as you want to. I thank you for your wise suggestions regarding matters of the heart and I hope you will forgive me when I tell you that with your six years you might not know very much about conflicts of that sort. However, I feel a little better knowing that you are looking out for me.

Your sneezing and coughing servant,  
Viktor

*

_Ambassador Christophe Giacometti to Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov_

Paris, 03.03.1904

Mon lapin,

regarding the letter I received from you yesterday: no, I do not hold it against you that you forgot to send a telegram at the right day. A war preventing you from doing so is a rather good excuse. Believe it or not, it keeps me busy as well. As you might know, the British support Japan and they heavily suspect of Germany supporting Russia. Since Russia has my country’s support in the conflict as well, you might understand why my superiors are interested in data about British-Japanese negotiations. In the last two months I travelled several times to London; a dreadful city, bleak and noisy without much of Paris‘ beauty. Everything in London is grey. Nothing can make that impression better, no matter how interesting its inhabitants might be.  
However, all of this also means that I am able to give you some news about our shared friend. We met in London two weeks ago; he was accompanying his father to a diplomatic breakfast I was invited to as well. Unfortunately we did not have much time to talk to each other, but he seems to be fine. Certainly he is alive and healthy, even though perhaps a bit pale (which I can understand quite well for English food should be used as poisonous weapon against their enemies – on the other hand, since Russia is currently one of those enemies I will not suggest this idea to them). He managed to write down a few hasty lines for you, which I will attach to this letter. Your star is certainly very brave.  
Please give the tsarevich my best wishes for his seventh birthday and the book of French fairytales I will send with this letter. I hope you are feeling better by now. Your health in the last few weeks truly has me worried and I would like to remind you that you still owe me another visit, so you should try to get stronger and healthier again soon. Perhaps the news and lines from your star will contribute to that.

Yours faithfully and with all the best wishes,  
ton ange

_Attached to the letter in unfamiliar writing, without date_

Vitya,  
this letter is like our time together – too short and yet with all the longing humanity can imagine. And yet, it is better than nothing and I am grateful for C.‘s help in the matter. I hope you will be well soon and I hope even more that crossing Russias beautiful borders will become possible once more in the near future. I carry your letter with me at all times. Please never lose hope, otherwise I might, too.

With love,  
Y.

*

_General Yakov Feltsman to Polkovnik Viktor Nikiforov_

Port Arthur, 18.03.1904

  
Vitya –

Makarov has assumed command of our fleets. The only capable man out here in Port Arthur, if you ask me. The rest of it cowers behind the borders of the port like a bunch of schoolgirls too afraid of the big bad wolf to move. Arguing against them makes my blood boil. Makarov increased activity in our squadrons and finally my demand to increase the general defense of Port Arthur was followed. Our squadrons rush out at sea now almost every day. They can try to surprise us now – it won’t work. Engagement with the enemy is the only way to work our way out of the blockade and win, but Makarov and me seem to be the only ones that can see it. Bunch of idiots, the lot of them, and A.[lexeev] is the worst of them. Kuropatkin commands the Manchurian army now – we’ll see how he does.  
Get out of bed as soon as you can and help defend your land. You are too bright of a mind to hide like a child. You need to use your talent and personality to help your country and your tsar. Send report when possible. Try to look after Lilia, you know you are like a son to us.

Yours,  
Yakov

*

_Polkovnik Viktor Nikiforov to Ambassador Christophe Giacometti_

St. Petersburg, 25.03.1904

Mon ange,  
I’m feeling better and your constant support has certainly helped with that. Truly, what are we without our friends and confidants in times like these?  
Admiral Makarov is splendid. He and Yakov work together in a magnificent way. Since he has taken over command, our cruisers forced the Japanese fleet to retreat several times. Their mines are problematic, but we are learning quickly and try to adapt as soon as possible. I suggested protecting the entrance of the port in order to prevent the Japanese from using blockships in the channel. As I feared they tried to do exactly that last night, but when they tried to sink a number of old steamships in the harbor’s channel, the cruisers that had been assigned to protect the harbor entrance quickly pursued them and prevented their intention from completion. I got the telegram just this morning; His Imperial Majesty, of course, is delighted.   
Nothing but war on my mind lately. I cannot say that my heart is eased, but at least keeping the terror in front of Russia at bay helps me forget the woes of my heart. I try to think about it as clinically as possible, but my mood is understandably not the best. Perhaps I am lucky and you have more news from my star?

Eagerly awaiting your response,  
ton lapin

*

_From the diary of tsarevich Yuri Georgievich Romanov_

30.03.1904

Uncle Nicky says Russia will win the war. He is smiling a lot more these days. I read a telegram for Vitya from uncle Yakov where he used many bad words because the other generals in Port Arthur (that is a big harbor and very important to Russia) are stupid. I will write them all down and try to use them often. Here they are:  
Imbeciles, sons of pigs and whores, whiny fuckers, bunch of ignorant idiots.  
I need to ask Vitya what an imbeciles is. War is stupid. Nobody has time to play, but I still need to learn French. Olya thinks she knows everything, but she knows nothing. Aunt Alix is unhappy, but I don’t know why when Russia really is winning the war.   
I want a cat. I will ask Uncle Nicky if I get one tomorrow.

*

_Telegram from General Yakov Semyonovich Feltsman to Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov_

13.04.1904

Petropavlovsk sunk by hostile mine. Makarov dead. Will assume command of fleets tomorrow. Pray for our future. Y.

*

_Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov to Ambassador Christophe Giacometti_

St. Petersburg, 20.04.1904

  
Mon ange,

what should I tell you – except that it is terrible! The generals are squabbling away their time. Meanwhile, Yakov tries his best to hold out at Port Arthur. Kuropatkin confronted the Japanese at Yalu River on April 17th, but lost spectacularly. His Imperial Majesty and Her Highness are terribly upset and depressed, which is understandable, but not helpful. I wish I could just walk away from it all, but that is not possible as long as I love my country and proudly serve my tsarevich (who is upset about things as well, but thankfully does not understand how grave the situation truly ist).   
In the city, people are unhappy with the war as well. Who can blame them! They have nothing to eat and the tsar does not hear them. I pity them and yet I am caught in too many tasks of war to do anything for them. I have the feeling as if the Assembly [of the Russian Factory and Mill Workers of the City of St. Petersburg], founded to help the workers and improve their state of being, only makes matters worse. Some strikes in the city, but nothing to worry about. They need bread and freedom to breathe and the lower classes look up to their ‘Little Father‘ for help. And rightfully so! But His Imperial Majesty is buried in matters of war and has little time to spare worrying about other matters.  
Neither you nor I are particularly religious men, but slowly I’ve come to think that perhaps a prayer is the only thing that might still be able to save us. Personally I am feeling better by the minute, which in turn makes me restless. I do not wish to leave Yura's side, yet I keep thinking of what I could accomplish in the field. You know that I do not want to be responsible for so many lives – but if one is good at something, is it not his duty to serve his country as best as he can despite his personal wishes? I don't know what to do.  
And still – fool that I am, in quiet nights I dream of my star…

Faithfully and with heavy heart,  
ton lapin

P.S. I attached a note for my star on this letter. If in any way possible, please do your utmost to give it to him. My gratefulness would know no bounds.

*

_Tsarevich Yuri Georgievich Romanov to Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov_

St. Petersburg, 01.05.1904

Dear Sir!  
I am very cross with you. You promist to stay with me and keep me company. I do not like at all that you went away to fight in ~~Manchua Much Manchiru~~ Asia. Uncle Nicky says you are very brave and that everyone has to fulfill their duty. I understand that because I am tsarevich and one day I will fight too. But until then you should protect me, but you cannot do that from the frontier. So I am very upset. And uncle Nicky does not want to give me a kitten on top of that. I even cried. So I just smuggled one into the Winter Palace and hid it there. Olya and Tanya helped me and we named it Gov. You must not tell it to anyone.   
I want you to come back soon. It would be best if you keep your head away from where people try to shoot at you. Then you will not die probably. Please try to shoot as many people as possible because when they are all dead the war will stop. I am tired of the war and aunt Alix is tired too. She sleeps a lot and starts to become very fat because of the baby but uncle Nicky says that is normal. I hate it when they kiss because it is gross to kiss girls. I hate it when aunt Xenia tries to kiss me. I like aunt Lilia better, she never tries to kiss me – she looks as if she would slap you if you try to kiss her. I want to be the same.  
Write me back soon so that I know that you are still alive.

Yuri

*

_Diary entry of Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov; on a scrap of paper with pencil_

Manchuria, 15.05.1904

Not a moment of peace. Holding our ground, but nothing more. Reinforcements arrive slowly – the Trans-Siberian Railway is a masterpiece, but it cannot bend time and space. To think of overwhelming victory would be foolish - if we will be victorious at all. I don't care for victory, I just want this to be over. Alexeev was called back to Moscow by the tsar – I'm trying to discuss strategy with Vitgeft and Stoessel, but they are dumb mules and A. left no orders. Figures. No time to sleep – had four hours of sleep last night, spent the rest of it plotting and defending. Blood on my hands again. It will never end. But what do when there is nobody else? Gave the order to punish my regiment severely for every misstep against civilians - I will not allow similar atrocities like the ones happening all over the place under different command. But still, how to look at my star now if we ever meet again – how to look at him, who has never killed a single soul, never seen this – blood and mud and dead bodies strewn across the floor without names, without faces – and tell him that I love him? Right now I love nothing. I feel hollowed out, a mechanical puppet moving on muscle memory alone. What was it like, to be alive?   
Leaving for Nanshan tomorrow.

*

_Report to His Imperial Majesty Nikolai II. by his faithful servant General Yakov Semyonovich Feltsman_

Port Arthur, 27.05.1904

Our troops suffered major casualties at Nanshan from May 24th until May 26th. The 5th East Siberian Rifles under Polkovnik Nikiforov were dug into fortified positions on Nanshan hill to hold out there. After taking Chinchou around 5 in the morning on may 25th the Japanese forces concentrated on our entrenched forces on Nanshan hill by prolonged artillery barrage followed by infantry assaults from three divisions under command of general Oku. Our forces inflicted heavy losses by the use of barbed wire, mines and Maxim machine guns. Polkovnik Nikiforov managed to prevent all nine Japanese attempts to take Nanshan hill, yet General Fok did not manage to send in our reserve divisions. In a fit of pure stupidity and paranoia he blew up Nikiforov's remaining ammunition reserves and gave the reserve divisions the order to retreat without informing Nikiforov beforehand. Nikiforov found himself and his troops that had suffered minimal losses of 400 men under his command surrounded by the enemy and had no other choice but to give the order for retreat o the second defense line, losing 650 men in his unsupported retreat. Nikiforov suffered heavy injuries and Nanshan hill was taken by enemy forces.   
Approximately 1.400 men were killed, more than 800 wounded and over 500 are still missing. I propose to transfer Fok to another station and promote Nikiforov to major general.

Yours humbly,  
General Feltsman

*

  
_Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov to Ambassador Christophe Giacometti_

Port Arthur, 01.06.1904

There you have it, mon ange, I will never be beautiful again. I am alive and things could certainly be worse (though considering all circumstances I do not really know how), but one half of my face was heavily injured. The wounds will heal, but one eye is lost; there is nothing that can be done. As soon as I am out of the military hospital and back home I will think about whether I would like a glass eye or a fancy patch with jewels on it. You see, I am trying to jest because if I don't, I might start to cry. And all of this due to people without knowledge and experience being on high-ranking positions. What to do? There is nothing to do.  
I'll continue to lead the 5th East Siberian Rifles as soon as I am declared fit enough again. The physicians do not want to release me just now; one of my legs seems to be broken, but it is a clean break and should heal well if I behave nicely and give it a rest. Ironically it is the same leg as before; I think I might become a little more familiar with the thought of a permanent cane.  
I hope you are well, my friend. I know that letters from Paris to here take at least 15-20 days, but do try to write me, will you? I need a friendly word in these times. Forgive me that I write so little; there really is nothing to say but matters of war which would not only bore you, as I am sure, but would also prove to be quite dangerous if this letter falls in the wrong hands. Better not take the risk - I am quite fond of the other eye, now that I only have the one left even more so than before. My father would be proud of it, I am sure. Perhaps that is why I cannot make peace with it.

One-eyed and tired,  
ton lapin

*  
 _Tsarevich Yuri Georgievich Romanov to Polkovnik Viktor Nikiforov_

St. Petersburg, 04.06.1904

Dear Viktor,  
I told you not to go where they shoot and now you lost an eye. Did it hurt very much? I hope you feel better when you get this letter. Uncle Nicky said you will get an order, I think the one from George. They also want to give you a golden sword (1), which I think is very nice. We can play pirates when you come back. I hope you do not run into walls now, that would look stupid. Gov is very pretty and very hungry. I drew a picture for you under the letter so you know how he looks. Aunt Alix is becoming fatter every day. The baby is already kicking when you touch her belly. I think it will be born soon. Nobody wants to tell me how that will work, which is stupid. I know that aunt Alix will not explode because she already has children and did not explode. I miss you. You always are the best horse, even with only one eye.

Yuri

Port Arthur, 19.06.1904

My dear kitten,  
I just got your letter from 04.06.04 and thank you very much for taking the time to write me. I swear to be the best pirate-horse that you have ever seen when I come back and maybe you can help me select the gems for my eye-patch. I did not run into any walls yet, but that may be because there are not many walls here. We mostly live in tents when there are no fights. Your kitten looks very adorable and you drew it masterfully. I am looking forward to meeting him. Sneaky of you to hide him in the Winter Palace!   
You are right, the baby will not explode out of your aunt. Rather she will press it out of her through a secret trapdoor in her stomach that only women can see. When it is time for the baby to be born, it will knock against the door to let her know and she will open it with a secret key. It is a rather complicated mechanism, so sometimes it takes hours to figure out how to open it.   
I miss you too. I promise I will be at your side again as soon as possible.

Your faithful servant,  
Viktor Nikiforov

P.S. I sent you a coin with this letter that is used here as currency. I found it quite pretty and decent loot for your pirate cave. The drawing is one I made of the ocean a few mornings ago. It really is quite beautiful here if war draws a resting breath for a moment.

*  
 _Ambassador Christophe Giacometti to Polkovnik Viktor Nikiforov_

Paris, 23.06.1904

Mon cher lapin,  
I write this reply as soon as I got your letter. One of your beautiful eyes gone! But worry not, everyone loves a tragically disfigured, yet still rather dashing soldier. Thank god you are alive, my friend, I do not know what I would have done had I received notification of your death. I do not even know whether they would have contacted me at all. Our shared friend Prince Yussupov would have done so, perhaps, but please do your utmost to prevent us from finding out.  
I hope you feel better by the time this letter reaches you. Here in Paris we follow the news of events in Manchuria with worry and I hope that soon you will have better news to tell me. In the meantime, let me cheer you up for I was able to get in contact with your star again and hand him the note you sent me for him on 20.04.04. He was well, if tired and overworked. We met in secret in London where he was accompanied by a friend from Siam, a rather handsome and cheery fellow called Phichit Chulanont. We talked for two hours and whenever there was mention of you his eyes were very fond. Whatever has happened, he certainly does not begrudge you for your actions in Manchuria - I hope the note attached to this letter will assure you of this and ease your heart at least a little. I did not tell him of your missing eye and injuries in order to spare him from worry, so I merely told him that you are alive and hope that this was in your best interest.  
So many things to say and yet I feel as if my hand was cramped. I think of you, my dear old friend, and wish you all the best. Do not despair; I know that despite everything you are a fair and just man and will do nothing dishonorable. Please make it back safe. I will try to write some more as soon as I can.

With worry and many good thoughts,  
ton ange

_A note without date attached to Ambassador Giacometti's letter_

My dearest Vitya,  
I am so happy and relieved to hear that you are well. Please keep in mind that I will never (!) hold it against you that you help defending your country's interest. While you fight at Port Arthur, I contribute my humble share to upholding my country's interest as well. There are our duties, and then there are our hearts. What my heart feels for you has nothing to do with my duties. There are many I resent for the situation as it is, but you are not one of them. I wish I could hear your voice and see your face, but we have to be patient. We need to be strong, now more than ever, and we will pull through. There will be an end to this war, one way or another, and I refuse to let our story end like this. We will find each other again, I promise. And when we do, I will show you my love. You have not seen much of it yet. This is not the end of our story. So hold on tight, do not lose focus - do not look away from your goal, from me. Never doubt I love.

Forever yours,  
Y.

*  
 _Diary entries of Polkovnik Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov; hastily written in a black notebook_

P.A., 01.08.04

Minister Plehve is dead – assassinated in his carriage on July 15th on his way to Tsarskoe Selo. And meanwhile, a new tsarevich was born on July 30th – bleeding from the navel. Was informed that it stopped today, but apparently unfortunate, poor little Alexey has inherited haemophilia from his mother's side. Can only imagine what this does to Yura – all the attention away from him and turned towards that sick little boy who might not survived the next night, nor the one afterwards. Of course the tsar told me in all confidentiality and I am bound to secrecy. A weak tsarevich makes the Empire unstable. And Yura? Thankfully still important – if Alexey doesn't make it, he will be next in line. My poor boy, there will be a lot of strain on him, and perhaps a lot of resentment towards him due to the fact that he is healthy and strong.  
The Siege of Port Arthur went into its next phase. Trying my best, but I am still not fully recovered. Fighting through the pain as much as I can, but I wish I didn't have to. Almost constant headache following me - the physician told me it might come from adjusting to one-eyed vision. Wearing Yuuri's words hidden in my uniform against my chest – if I die here, I want to keep him close to me. How much worth a scrap of paper suddenly has when death surrounds you.   
Yakov gravely wounded. They are going to send him back to St. Petersburg as soon as he is stable enough. Nobody knows if he is going to make it. With him out of the picture, our chances are bleak. I cannot lead a war entirely on my own and Fok as well as Stoessel seem to have given up already and I try to keep a close eye at them.   
Keeping a stiff upper lip proves to be harder and harder every day.

P.A., 25.12.1904

Spending my birthday here on the frontier only reminds of how happy I was last year in Yuuri’s arms. Will I ever be as happy again as I was back then? Difficult times. I am tired all the time, but I have no time to be tired. No time to be sad too, just hollow.

P.A., 31.12.1904

Surrender. I know I should feel something, but I don’t feel anything.  
Home. I pray to God I can make it home. But where is home anyways? I seem to have forgotten. Nothing in my heart but snow. I do not fear death anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) the orders Yuri refers to are The Order of St. George (4th class) and the Golden Sword of Bravery, both of which were given to Tretyakov for his deeds during the Siege.
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com)!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with another chapter! Thank you for all your continued support, I truly am grateful for every single kudo and comment I get. It really keeps me going. <3 We're closing in on the end of Part 1, so I'd like to mention that Part 2 is already outlined, I just have to start writing it. If you don't want to miss it, subscribe to the series "Gore and Glory" is part of.
> 
> Have fun with broken Viktor!

The day Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov came home, it was snowing in Tokyo. Yuuri was weeping in his room, curled up into a tight ball in the darkness. He wept silently, all his tears hidden in the unforgiving skin of his own hand. Some people would say that there was no reason for him to cry, not really: his country had won the war. His efforts had helped strengthen Japan’s relations to the Great British Empire. His family was alive and well – and somewhere Viktor was alive, too. But Yuuri wept for him nevertheless. He wept for the gentle soul he knew Viktor possessed, the soul that had to live with even more blood on his hands. He wept for the man that had been tender with him, gentle and soft in their nights spent together, now appearing in Yuuri’s dreams with shattered fractions of a man with hard blue eyes fighting like the devil. How to recover from war? How to protect a gentle heart from so much pain? He wept because he knew that there was nobody to give Viktor love in Yuuri’s stead, not really. Yes, he was alive – but badly wounded, as Yuuri had managed to find out from Christophe Giacometti after a lot of prodding and pleading, and he probably would never be the same again. Was there any chance to find him and hold him once more?

The day Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov returned home, Yuri had watched the arrival of carriages and haggard, bleeding soldiers from one of the Winter Palace’s windows with somber eyes. Tanya and Olya were next to him, having sent a loudly protesting Maria to bed where she had soon fallen asleep. The two older girls had taken Yuri in their midst, keeping him warm while they peered outside with held breath. Gov purred in his arms, happy to let Yuri’s small fingers pet his head every now and then.  
“It’s not over yet,“ Olya whispered like a secret. Beneath them on the ground, one of the soldiers that had left one of the carriages dropped down into the snow. Blood sprinkled across the white cobblestones of Palace Square like strewn flowers. “The war, I mean. Father has not yet signed. There are still battles.“  
“But Viktor said he’d come home,“ Yuri insisted a little too loudly and was shushed by the two girls immediately.  
“He was stationed in Port Arthur,“ Tanya said matter-of-factly. “Port Arthur has fallen and they ordered him back because he’s too badly injured to be of any help at another frontier.“  
Yuri bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing, but he did pet Gov a little more anxiously. “I’ll be so mad if he died on the way here,“ he finally murmured. Olya made another shushing noise and hugged him, until Yuri tried to wiggle out of her arms because her hair tickled him too much.  
“He’ll be fine,“ Tanya told him, “God always protects those that fight the bravest.“  
Yuri thought that this probably was a huge load of crap, but he did not voice his thoughts out loud because he did not like it when Tanya’s lower lip became all wobbly. So he just grunted in that way uncle Yakov always did when he did not care to give a verbal answer, then perked up and pressed his hands and nose against the cold glass of the window when he saw a familiar silver glint among the black uniforms.  
Viktor was there, but he was not unharmed. On one hand he leaned heavily onto a cane, the other arm was steadily supported by a young soldier. One half of his head was thickly bandaged, stained so red that Yuri could see it from his faraway spot on the window sill. He did not see that Viktor’s steps were slow, but steady when he approached the Winter Palace because as soon as he got the chance, as soon as he knew without any uncertainty that it was indeed Viktor who had returned to them, Yuri had hopped from the window sill, Gov in his arms. He ignored Olya’s and Tanya’s hushed, but stern voices that told him to come back, to at least put on a coat. Instead he escaped the room, stopping only to lower Gov down onto the floor in one of the many rooms of the palace he hid the kitten in, then ran through seemingly hundred rooms and down a dozen flights of stairs into the cold air.  
Snow and wind bit into his face like angry dogs as soon as he had rushed past the door. Soldiers stumbled out of his way, some of them bowing with surprise, others – higher-ranking ones – trying to lead him back inside. Most of them already scattered in every part of the city in front of the gates leading to the Winter Palace, only a rare few stepping through the gates and into the corridor that led to the inner courtyard. Yuri was only interested in one of them. He cried out, a name half-frozen on his lips, carried away by the wind until he yelled again, louder this time, more desperate.  
Viktor looked up. The soldier who half-carried him had a face flushed red with cold, but Viktor was pale like a ghost. Yuri had never seen him unshaved, but there it was, a coarse silvery beard hiding the lower part of his face. There was a split in his lip; he was clad in a thick military coat, a knitted scarf slung around his neck in several loops, his uniform cap and thick gloves, yet still he shuddered. But he smiled as soon as his gaze fell on Yuri, the blue of his one eye – the only one remaining and for a moment Yuri wanted to balk, it was so unfamiliar – brightening a little like the sky after a storm. The other eye was hidden behind strands of silver hair and a bloodied bandage.  
“Little Yura,“ he murmured and reached for one of his hands.  
Yuri suddenly felt shy enough to make a step back, clenching his cold fingers in the hem of his shirt. He did not know this man; he knew traces of him, but the smile was split, the face was tired, the figure was bent. Viktor said nothing; he lowered his hand and smiled again, sad and gentle. Yuri felt the sting of hot tears of shame in his eyes, a lump in his throat making it hard to speak. He wanted to, but he could not.  
“It’s alright, little one,“ Viktor shushed him when he began to cry in lack of anything else to do. “Come on, let’s get inside.“  
Maybe later, Yuri thought when he was finally caught by his nanny and brought back into his quarter, a last look back at Viktor thrown over his shoulder. Maybe later it would not feel so strange anymore, looking at Viktor and his smile. Maybe auntie Alix was right and a good nights sleep would solve a lot of problems.

After Viktor Ivanovich Nikiforov had come home, he slept for two days.  
At least that was what he was told when he woke up again, disoriented and with a parched throat. They gave him something to drink. He handled the delicate china with the care of someone who had forgotten how to do the simplest daily tasks. And indeed he felt like in a dream, wondering at which point he would wake up at Port Arthur again, the earth trembling under the weight of grenades and breaking ships. He knew that it would take some time to settle again. He also knew that he probably should not consider vodka his best friend in the meantime, but as he soon discovered it was the only thing that stopped his fingers from shaking. It also made thinking of Yuuri a little easier. Where was he now? Was he alright? Would they ever see each other again? Only a part of him silently whispered that there were other, more pressing matters to attend to, that he should let go of a love so impossible. And yet, forgetting Yuuri was out of the question. His face had kept him going in Port Arthur. Now it was the vodka that gave him a little peace instead of regretting the fact that he could not simply leave and go look for Yuuri in a country where he was despised, and not unreasonably so. Still, he kept drinking a minimum, making up for it by smoking more than usual, since there was no part of him that wanted to be a mindless drunk, especially not in front of Yuri. The poor boy was shaken up enough, loitering around Viktor’s quarters as if unsure what to do with himself.  
Yuri was forbidden from going outside. Viktor only heard what was going on in the city in bits and pieces; apparently there was a general consensus that nobody wanted to agitate him. As if there was enough energy left in him to feel agitated! His lost eye made it difficult for him to read and so he restrained from making the effort of even touching a newspaper to spare himself a monstrous headache. What was currently – apparently – happening in St. Petersburg was this: people were hungry. War had made them even hungrier and they were tired of dead husbands, brothers and sons. Demonstrations had taken place during the last weeks, most of them led by a ragtag group around Father Gapon. Viktor had vague associations with that name: he was a Christian leader, a devout believer in the holy bond between tsar and people, a good man.  
Tsar Nikolai II. was not delighted to hear that Viktor found the flurry of strikes in the city more than understandable. Viktor told him anyway, bleeding into his warm and comfortable bed in the Winter Palace.  
“You have to do something, Your Imperial Majesty,“ he said. “Your people love and support you still, but for how long? It is your holy duty to protect them. Do not look away from their suffering, let them see your support.“  
The tsar sat next to him, hands on his knees and stone-faced. “You do not think I know what my duty is, Viktor Ivanovich?“ he finally asked. “Your father – my good friend – always believed in a firm hand towards unruly children. It is only his advice that I follow since I am of the same opinion.“  
“Your children love and adore you because you are just and loving towards them,“ Viktor told him, sitting up a little more with some difficulty. He felt tired; had felt tired ever since he had come back. “Russia’s people need love. In these dire times, they need light. How else will they overcome the harsh long nights of winter?“ When Nikolai II. said nothing, eyes thoughtfully looking into the distance, he continued softly, “You need to make a choice on how to handle this. They will not go away. Either you can suppress them and disappoint their fate in you or you can lend them a helping hand. You must, Your Imperial Majesty. There are too many forces that want to weaken you.“  
Silence. Then, with a deep and suffering sigh, the tsar took his hand and squeezed it tightly for a moment before letting go. “I am glad you are still here, Viktor Ivanovich,“ he said softly and sadly, “for we live in dire times indeed. Sometimes I forget…but it does not matter. Rest now. I will decide when I am ready.“  
But he did not.  
Later, much later, Viktor would reflect on how he knew that the beginning of the end had started the moment he was woken up one evening and told to pack his things. It was Saturday, a normal Saturday where it had snowed quite a lot. For a moment, Viktor was weak and disoriented. Then he suddenly was wide awake and managed to get out of bed.  
“What is wrong?“ he asked the maid who was assigned to help him. “His Imperial Majesty wants to move to Tsarskoe Selo? Why so suddenly? What has happened?“  
“I don’t know much, sir,“ the maid whispered. She glanced about before continuing with a hushed voice, “They have ordered troops of the garrison’s infantry to guard the Winter Palace and the bridge, sir, or so I’ve heard. The demonstrations are getting louder, so many people outside…it’s awful…“  
He handed her his handkerchief when she started to sniffle. “The infantry,“ he muttered and shook his head while he readied himself as much as possible. “Why the infantry? No, they should have taken the cossacks…“ God help them if they were any casualties.  
He told the tsar as much, already on the way to Tsarskoe Selo. Yuri was sleeping on his lap, face pressed against his chest and his deep, even breath softly blowing over the fine hair of Viktor’s fur coat. Olga and Tatyana refused to sleep, looking out into the night with quiet and solemn faces. Anastasia and Maria were riding in the other carriage with their mother and nanny, probably sleeping like Yuri. The boy had been upset and hurt to leave Gov behind, claiming to have a bad feeling. Viktor had to promise and swear to him that he would get the cat if their stay at Tsarskoe Selo would last longer than a week. Only then Yuri had finally calmed down and succumbed to sleep.  
The tsar was quiet after Viktor had finished whispering dreadful visions into the darkened carriage. He could not see his face, but when Nikolai II. finally spoke, his voice was tired. “There will be no casualties. God help us, I will never give them order to shoot at people. It must not be. No. They are only there to guard, not to harm. Surely this will all blow over soon enough…“ He sighed deeply. “We will win the war, just like God intends us to do. Everything will be better when we can show our people that we were victorious.“  
“People don’t want a victory, Your Imperial Majesty,“ Viktor replied and bit back his suddenly upflaring fury. “They want peace and bread.“  
“Yes, yes, you might be right,“ the tsar murmured and sighed again, leaning his head against the carriage window like a little boy. “They are so simple-minded after all. Yes…dreadful, all of this. But what can I do? What can I do but pray…“  
But why not use the cossacks, Viktor wanted to scream, the cossacks with their sharp whips that hurt but could not kill? Why even take the risk? Why flee in the middle of the night, abandoning the Winter Palace to pleading people who had no idea that there was nobody there to hear them beg?  
Tired. He was too tired to argue, too tired to do anything apart from shifting Yuri’s heavy weight on his thighs, pressing him closer to his chest and closing his eyes. Later, he would remember that night for its darkness, for the way everything seemed so quiet as if every living thing was holding their breath before the terror, for the way the earth rumbled underneath the carriage’s wheels like a deeply unsatisfied spirit from beneath, ready to swallow them all. When he fell asleep, his fingers cradling Yuri’s head like the most precious thing, he dreamed of Yuuri’s dark eyes and blood splitting snowy fields in two like the river of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com)!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this with sadness and joy since this will be the last chapter of part one. I wrote this sitting in St. Petersburg myself and I could not have hoped for a more fitting way to end this. There will be an epilogue after this, but then we will only meet again for the second part of this monster. The second part will be titled "Broken Crown"; I'll try to write as many chapters of it as possible until the end of the year so that I can start posting them in January.  
> Thank you for sticking with me along the ride, thank you if you will continue to hang around and check out the next two parts as well. Just subscribe to the series and you'll be fine concerning updates, I think.
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com)!  
> If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on [Ko-Fi](http://ko-fi.com/thegrimshapeofyoursmile)!

Later, Viktor would only try to remember St. Petersburg as it was before the event that was later known as Bloody Sunday: Big and bold, majestic and golden in the light of day’s dying sun. He would think of Nevsky Prospect with its magnificent buildings dating back to Peter the Great’s time, of his beloved Neva and gliding ships, and he would weep for all of it, weep for a lost home. He would weep not only because of the searing loss, but also because of the pain his city would have had to suffer then, covered in even more innocent blood than before. A great city it was, standing proudly where it should not have been possible for such a big city to stand, made from nothing but clay and wooden standposts and blood of thousands of serfs and criminals. And yet. And yet. After 1905, St. Petersburg seemed broken, and so was he.

There was some kind of mercy in the fact that he was not there when it happened, resting in the beautiful Catherine palace in Tsarskoe Selo instead, too exhausted to be a proper person. And yet it was also too telling: where were they, where was he when people, hungry and desperate, had tried to seek help from their tsar as was their holy right? When they came to the Winter Palace, they had not known that there was no tsar to listen to their pleas because he had fled, leaving them behind in order to seek refuge at another place. There had been nobody to talk to, nobody to hear their prayers and songs. What had there been armed guards for, with nobody in the palace to protect? At the end of the day, the Winter Palace was just a building, beautiful as it was. Its walls and columns were just that, stone and silk, and the rest of it just glass and gems, paper and fur.

Beautiful, broken St. Petersburg. Viktor could feel the crack in his heart as he stared out of one of  Catherine Palace’s windows, unseeing, unblinking. He could remember the exact moment it had broken when the tsar had received the news and crumbled into his chair like a paper doll – it had broken audibly, and with finality. He had stood motionlessly like a statue, his breath too harsh in his own ear, while Nikolai had pressed his face into his hands. He was not an unkind man, not cruel, and so it had not been surprising to see him and Alix weep. And still. And still. It was the first time that Viktor had looked at them and thought that he would never forgive them.

“What a tragedy,“ the tsar had said with a deep, shuddering breath, “What a dark, dark day. My God – why are we punished like this? Why did this have to happen?“

For once Viktor could offer no words of consolation. There was nothing but a void on his tongue and in the crack of his heart. All that fighting for a country he loved and believed in, for a tsar he had trusted and looked up to – for the people that had been murdered without reason, their blood painting the cobblestones of Palace Square red. What was the reason in that? There was none. It was madness, a madness that, Viktor could feel it in his bones, marked the beginnings of an end he did not dare imagine. People were rising, and rightfully so. People would rise for a long, long time, would resist and strike, they would be hanged and punished and exiled, and still they would rise. They would rise, and eventually Viktor would have to choose, but not quite yet.

Ah, beautiful, broken St. Petersburg. Viktor did not fully realize it as he stood there on the window and looked outside, but he had already started the process of saying goodbye. It was a long, arduous process that would take ten years and more, never to be finished. He would say goodbye for the rest of his life, and it would never be enough. There it was, this city that he loved, only one or two hours away, and yet he coul not help but dream of it like he dreamed of Yuuri: not entirely out of the world, but surely out of his reach, lost lovers the both of them. It was in St. Petersburg where he had grown up, for better or worse, where he had spent long, shadowless nights on bridges and streets, a young man looking for himself. St. Petersburg had been kind to him when nobody else had been. He had lived between the ocean with its ceaselessly crying seagulls and beautiful, dominating Neva, had lived in the channels that threaded through the city’s heart like blood vessels. He had lived there, and lost, and mourned, and he had loved and laughed. Here it was where he had met Yuuri for the first time, where he had kissed him, held him, promised the moon to him. He had not been able to even give him one more night, but St. Petersburg had never held it against him. She had been patient and kind, opening her arms for him day and night.

How anybody could expect him to live with all the heartbreak, he did not know.

He felt keenly, more than anything else, that something had happened that could not be mended. One part of his heart was with Yuuri; the other he had given to Petersburg years and years ago and now, with bot parts ripped away, he did not know what was left. It was a sickness that he would never be cured of, a sickness that, perhaps, was part of a bigger picture he had not yet fully realized.

Ah, but the child. The child he had sworn to protect and cherish, the golden protégé, Russia’s bright future. If anyone could help steer the Romanovs away from a dire fate, it was Yuri Georgievich, but he was still so very young. In a few years, God help them, he would be fit to rule if by then there was anything left to rule. It was a sad, sobering thought, far away from the days where he thought that nothing could destroy Russia’s glory, and he did not like to dwell on it, so he tried to think of something else. In a few years, Yuri would walk through Petir’s streets a man alreay, would walk along the Neva without needing anyone to carry him. Instead he would carry himself, a crown and a terrible burden on top of it, and they could only pray that he would manage to lead his people and country into a brighter future. Until then, Viktor would be there, ignoring his bruised, battered heart as best as he could and smiling for him, smiling, smiling until everything hurt enough to numb him down. Mercy upon them all – the sun was shining, but Petersburg was in mourning, wearing black now and forever underneath a layer of freshly fallen snow.

“Will it be alright?“ Yuri asked him a few days later, sitting on his lap. Always so keen, that child that was not his, yet was treated by him like it was sometimes; always so sensitive, so harsh because he so keenly felt life. There was no deceiving him: in his own way, Yuri knew that something irreversible had happened, even though he was so young.

Viktor smiled and stroked his golden hair before he hugged him tight. “It will be,“ he told him. Another promise that he would not be able to keep.

 

And despite it all, the world continued to spin.

The tsar, disheartened and sad and finally forced to admit that he could win neither the war against the Japanese nor against the people’s will if he continued what he was doing, gave in. It was too late, much too late, but scrambling and fumbling he did what could be done. Somehow, it felt like simply buying more time. Viktor gave up, too, although in a different way. The promotion he had gotten meant nothing to him. He did not involve himself in political and miliatary decisions any more than absolutely necessary and retreated into his empty house. Focusing on Yuri meant everything now. That was an advantage of having a war hero’s reputation: people were much more lenient with one if one had indulged in gore for glory.

Yakov was an exception.

He had always been ever since he had taken Viktor under his wing. When Viktor had come crying to him because his father had forced him to cut off his hair, throwing him into the snow and telling him to become a man already, he had comforted him in that helplessly gruff way of his, the only way he knew. When Viktor had risen to glory, Yakov had been there to remind him to not lose focus on what was important: Love for Russia, love for her people, but also love for oneself. There was no self-love possible if one killed for glory; killing, according to Yakov, had to be a necessary evil and nothing more. It was so different from what his father had taught him that Viktor would have found it laughable if he had not been so relieved, so glad. Yakov had never been afraid to tell him to tone it down or tell him his opinion, yelling at him if necessary, ad he had always been his rock. Indeed, where Viktor withered underneath his nightmares and loss, Yakov seemed to turn greyer, but his back was still straight and he looked at Viktor with the same steely gaze.

“You cannot stop caring,“ he told him curtly. “This is not how the world works. You are sad? Everyone is. Russians are made of sadness. Take it and turn it into gold, it is what you are good at. You want to stay away? It’s too late for that. You made your choice – now their fate is your fate.“

“I can’t do it,“ Viktor whispered, weak only in that very moment and only in front of Yakov, who had seen him in every state, who knew what a fragile, useless creature he really was.

Yakov snorted. “Selfish,“ he told him, “Cruel, which you never were. Don’t start with it now, the world is already cruel enough.“ He paused, then, marginally gentler than before, continued. “You know there will be negotiations with Japan, don’t you? Maybe they will need a bit of military expertise on the table.“

“They don’t need me for that,“ Viktor glumly pointed out. “There are Rosen and Witte, and-“

“And both of them are diplomats, Vitya, politicians,“ Yakov interrupted him impatiently. “You, though. You have been there, and you behaved splendidly. Use it.“

“Why can’t you go?“

Yakov snorted again. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate an old Jew on their negotiations table,“ he said and shook his head. “I’m an old man and the negotiations will take place in America. I’m unwilling to undertake such a long journey. But you, you are still young. You could use it, see something of the world. It builds character, I’ve heard. Builds courage, too. Sometimes it even gives new hope.“

Viktor said nothing. Instead he emptied his glass and refilled it immediately. By now it was so automatic a motion that he did not even fully notice.

“I heard,“ Yakov said after a moment of carefully observing him, “that there might be someone you want to see.“

Yuuri. Viktor breathed in, breathed out in harsh, desperate longing that suddenly rose deep in his throat. Yuuri. Yuuri had known, long before him, how limited their time was, had made the best of it while it lasted without ever complaining. Yuuri had involved himself time and time again no matter how much he hurt, no matter how insulted he had been. He had sent him scraps of letters that he did not deserve in the least, yet clung to like a drowning man to a lifeline. Viktor carried them with him wherever he went, hoping to be buried with them soon. Yuuri, beautiful and clever and strong, and so, so beloved. His hands shook at the thought of him, so strongly that the glass almost slipped his grasp. How could he look him in the eyes again after all the blood of Yuuri’s countrymen he had spilled? Yes, Yuuri had told him that there was nothing to forgive, that war followed its own rules – but heart and mind, they often were not of the same opinion. What would he do if he lost the last thing he had, the memory of Yuuri’s love?

“Vitya,“ Yakov said after a long moment of silence, “tell me, is it love or is it not?“

Love. It it was not love, Viktor did not know what was. He had never believed in destiny, never believed in wanting someone so much that it hurt, but here it was.

“It is,“ he whispered and felt close to crying.

“Well, then it can’t be helped,“ Yakov said, “You need to stop being afraid. You’ll travel to America and you’ll see that boy again, or else.“ His eyes softened. “Do something to save your heart, Vitya, before it’s too late. Your father never managed to recover, and you know the results. Don’t walk along the same path.“

Ah, but it was hard to leave, the hardest thing now that there was no war to fight, only a battle with himself. Perhaps that was what fate had decided for him: an endless circle of leaving the people he loved, always torn between different worlds and never able to settle for good. If it was, it probably was a punishment well deserved.

Standing on the railing of the ship that was to carry him along with the rest of the tsar’s envoy and the man himself to America, he looked back to where St. Petersburg was slowly getting smaller. _Be well, Piter,_ he thought with love and sadness in his chest. _I will take you with me to America: your channels and rivers, your islands and streets, Nevsky Prospect and Lazarus cemetery where I happened to walk so often. Goodbye, Sennaya Ploschtschad where I sat in the shadows of your trees, thinking and dreaming in the summer heat. Goodbye, Palace Square that I crossed so often, goodbye, Winter Palace that was my home. When we meet again, both you and I will be different, much different from now._

He could only hope that it was not a change for worse.

 

*

 

America was quite different from Japan. It was also quite different from all the European cities Yuuri had been to, from Paris and Vienna, even St. Petersburg, even though it pretended otherwise. Yuuri had a hard time adjusting to America and the way its people walked, talked and thought. It was not a matter of language barrier since his English was undeniably British, yet well enough. It was something more, a clash of cultures that he was not entirely willing to overcome. It was his fault, as he was well aware, and he did not know why he behaved that way since it was so unlike himself, especially since President Roosevelt and his staff had been perfectly courteous and helpful towards him and his father so far. But Yuuri was tired. He was tired and weary and a little less naïve than all those months ago when he had first set foot in St. Petersburg. There was a tightness in his chest that never seemed to leave him these days and that made him irritated with himself and the rest of the world.

Still, duty had called him here first and foremost, and duty was what he would fulfill no matter how hard it was. So he forced a smile on his face and conversed lightheartedly in foreign languages until his head swam from thinking in too many languages at once without ever expressing the real things in any of them. Sometimes, laying in the darkness alone, he wondered if he had ever been a real person instead of just this: a diplomat with a porcelain smile, a translator with little meaning and too many words. He wondered if he had dreamed the person he had been with Viktor: himself, and happy, and more, _more_. It did not matter, or so he tried to convince himself. He could see his father’s pride and his mother’s love and it had to be enough. If it was not, well, he was simply ungrateful and always had been. People had died, had fought and struggled and lost and died, and here he was, complaining about the important role he played in safety and wellbeing.

But what could he do when all he wanted was to scream until they would come and take him away, across the sea and into the ice, into arms that he had known, once upon a dream? And what was it worth, a world without love? He had seen Europe’s hungry eyes, smiling into each other’s faces and waiting for a chance to rip each other’s throats out. He knew that Japan was no different. Was it worth saving, all of this, when it was so hell-bent on destruction? And once again, it did not matter: it was his duty to do what he could, and so he did – a doll, wandering through every day unfeeling, unthinking.

Until, one day, he heard that the Russian delegation had arrived.

For a moment Yuuri could not breathe. It was foolish, he knew, to hope. Hope was so hard to come by these days, such a fragile thing to cling to. It was a butterfly, crushed the second one gripped it too hard; a vase, broken and mended with gold. And yet. And yet. After everything, his heart seemed to be broken, but a stubborn thread of him still clung to that fragile golden butterfly. The chance to see Viktor again was slim, so very slim, but he could not help it.

His father observed him very carefully as he stood at the window and stared anxiously at the port of Portsmouth where on the horizon a ship could be made out. “You are waiting.“

“Yes,“ Yuuri whispered, too tired to deny it. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I believe…I have been waiting for a long time.“

Toshiya smiled warmly and as tiredly as Yuuri felt. His steps were slow and measured as he crossed the room to stroke Yuuri’s hair as gently as he had when he had been but a boy, riding on his knees without a care in the world. His parents had given him everything, their love and patience and guidance, and they continued to give. “I know, my son. I know.“

Yuuri swallowed back a sob and lifted his hands to press them against his eyes, hating how weak he felt. “I am sorry,“ he choked out, “I am sorry for disappointing you. I am sorry for being the way I am. I am sorry – I am sorry I cannot do as you wish. I cannot be the way you want me to be.“

“Oh, Yuuri,“ his father murmured, resting his hands – older now than they ever were and yet the same hands he had always had – so very gently on his shoulders. “There is nothing you could do that would disappoint us. I am sorry that I cannot lift every burden from your shoulders, and that there are things that are greater than you and me. Look at me, please.“

Yuuri lifted his eyes and looked into his father’s face, his nostrils flaring at the understanding he could read there, an understand he perhaps did not deserve, yet got anyways.

Toshiya searched his face for a moment, then he touched his cheek. “Never apologize for your heart,“ he whispered, “to nobody. It is one of the gentlest things I have ever seen. There is no shame in love, never. There is no shame in fear, either.“ He smiled slightly. “Your mother has taught me this, and as always she is right. You know that you will not get to keep him, even if he is on that ship.“

Yuuri’s throat felt tight. Only a handful of days once more. A handful of hours split between duty and his heart’s desire, carving precious memories from the endless stream of time like diamonds before they would part again. It had to be enough. It would be enough. They would make it so. “Yes.“

“Well,“ said Toshiya after a long pause, “then better make the most of it.“


	13. Epilogue

Yuuri found him where he had thought he would: at the edge of the ocean, huddled between two ships like a smaller figure than he was. For a moment Yuuri simply stood there and looked at his back, still broad and refined as he remembered, although bent in a new angle. How much he had had to suffer, Yuuri thought once more with a pang, how much his gentle heart had had to endure. Perhaps there were cracks that could never be repaired, but he had to try. For the handful of days that had been left to them as a gift from benevolent Gods that they would spend here in a foreign country, he had to try.

When he stepped closer, Viktor turned his head.

Oh, what a horrible thing it was, the simple patch of black where one of his eyes used to be. And yet, how beautiful Viktor continued to be, how lovely in every single aspect of the word. There was no way Yuuri would ever get tired of this, would ever want something else than the way Viktor’s eye lit up with sheer, utter joy at the sight of him as if he was something to cherish, to wait for. Perhaps that was all there would ever be for them, fleeting stolen moments between one goodbye and the next, but was it not worth it? Was it not worth everything, everything?

“Yuuri,“ he breathed and opened his arms. “I have waited for you for so long.“

Yuuri smiled, wide and alive again for the moment, and flew into the arms he had loved once upon a dream, still loved and always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next level...
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://thegrimshapeofyoursmile.tumblr.com)!  
> If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on [Ko-Fi](http://ko-fi.com/thegrimshapeofyoursmile)!


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